Renegade
by vmariew
Summary: When the King sends Treville on a mission outside of Paris, the Captain leaves a trusted second in temporary command. Nothing can go wrong. Can it? Set in the months between Seasons 1 and 2.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

The room may have had a dual aspect but the light provided failed to permeate the shadowy corners. Heavy, dark wood furniture that consisted primarily of a large desk and a huge cupboard used for storing parchment scrolls and leather-bound volumes added to the sense of gloom. Serving both as an office and sleeping quarters - the latter area sectioned off by a room divider of wrought iron - the place was unmistakably masculine, functional and the working domain of the man who now stood at one of those windows, arm outstretched with the hand on the frame bearing his weight as he stared unseeing at the view beyond the glass. Treville, Captain of the King's Musketeers, was a man of few words and a measured temper, unless the situation required otherwise and right now he was troubled, lost in his thoughts. He ran a hand through his thinning hair and undid the top button of his doublet. The day was balmy and not uncomfortable but he felt hot, stifled; his turmoil threatened to smother him.

Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he heard the booted footsteps on the wooden staircase, the familiar tread approaching along the balcony and coming to a halt on the other side of the door. A knock sounded. Treville took a deep breath to steady the rapid beating of his heart. Once that door was opened and his man entered, he would quite probably be setting in motion a train of events the outcome of which was impossible to foresee.

"Enter," he commanded. The door creaked open and he chastised himself at the sound as he had been meaning to have the annoyance corrected for the past two days. How could he have been so remiss? He made a mental note to himself to have it sorted; there was still time as it was not within his nature to leave a task incomplete.

"You asked to see me, Captain." The voice behind him was low and rich, the syllables clipped.

Composed once more, Treville turned and smiled at the musketeer who stood to one side of the chair placed carefully before the desk. Treville gestured towards it. "Sit."

Athos looked at the chair as if he had not quite understood the invitation and then glanced at the empty place by the wall where the chair usually stood. There were exceptionally few occasions when a musketeer sat within the office in the presence of his captain and only, as far as Athos could recall, when it prefaced something generally serious.

"Sit, Athos," Treville repeated and, as if to set an example, he dropped into his own seat, nodding in approval as the musketeer did as requested although, Treville noted, the man sat on the chair's edge, back ramrod straight, hands resting lightly on his knees.

"The King wishes me to ride to Normandy to have talks with the Comte d'Arrentière who is currently behaving in a somewhat contrary manner. I am to discern whether or not he poses a more disloyal concern," he sighed. "I do so hate the machinations of diplomacy."

Athos' mind began automatically checking off a list of arrangements in readiness for the departure of a contingent of musketeers. Having been party to such planning on countless occasions, it was like second nature to him. "I'll make preparation. When do we leave?" With so much to do, he fleetingly wondered why he had been invited to sit down; it had never happened before to receive orders.

Treville gave a thin smile that did not reach his eyes and it did not go unnoticed by the other man. Was that a hint of sadness on the Captain's face? Of regret even?

"You misunderstand me, Athos. You will not be going with me."

Athos successfully masked the disappointment he felt for it was not often these days that Treville led a mission far from the Paris garrison and the opportunity to ride again alongside the man he revered would have been most welcome. Treville's role as Captain of the King's musketeers was to command and delegate and his presence at court was a daily expectation but when he was required to venture forth, Athos and his friends always accompanied him. It had been so for almost as long as Athos could remember. Treville himself had coined their name as his Inseparables: Athos, Aramis and Porthos and then, when the youngster burst into their lives, d'Artagnan, who quickly and successfully wormed his way into the close-knit trio. The three had subsequently become four in an even tighter unit bound by brotherhood, friendship, loyalty and honour. Yes, there were the occasions when they were deployed individually or in pairs but not for an operation of this nature. Was that about to change? He swiftly made the inevitable assumption.

"As well as Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan, how many more men will you be taking?"

"They will remain with you," Treville asserted. "Six men will accompany me. We will leave this afternoon and I anticipate that we should return within fourteen days."

"Only six? But that route has been fraught with danger in recent months and then, if Arrentière is the problem as suggested, you should have more men."

"I do not intend arriving with anything that might be construed as a small army. Besides, Richelieu has also asked that I make a slight detour on the return journey to deliver papers on his behalf to the monastery of Saint Michel, about a day's ride from Paris. The brothers there will not be able to accommodate a large number of men." He noted the frown that crossed Athos' face and awaited the protest.

"If you do not mind my saying so, Captain, that is but a poor excuse. The troop will have been camping out for several nights en route, one more outside a monastery will make little difference."

Treville sighed patiently, having expected just such an observation "I have made my decision." The tone in his voice indicated that he would brook no argument and Athos sensibly recognised that fact.

"I will pick the six men for you and inform them then," he offered instead and made as if to stand but his movement was stayed by Treville's next pronouncement.

"I have already made my selection: Marchamps, Bonet, Barrand, Carnelle, Surlin and Vallons." He waited for the loud objection that his words would initiate and it was almost immediate.

"What?" Athos could not believe what he was hearing and he certainly could not recall another time when his Captain had apparently picked so unwisely. The man was a seasoned soldier with years of campaigning and leadership behind him that had made him an obvious choice to command the newly formed regiment that was the dream of a young King Louis in 1622. In the intervening years, he had rigorously and enthusiastically set about shaping and moulding his men into a skilled, efficient fighting force. Such success was not the natural result of strange judgements such as this one. "They are inexperienced musketeers, untried and untested. Bonet and Vallons have only just received their commissions and are newer than d'Artagnan."

"Who was, as I recall, actively in the field with you, Aramis and Porthos long before he was commissioned," Treville pointed out.

"But that was different." Even as the words came out of his mouth, Athos knew he sounded more like a petulant boy than a rational soldier and his cheeks burned with embarrassment.

Treville crossed his arms and pretended not to have noticed as he asked. "How so?"

Athos thought quickly. "D'Artagnan was with us, learning from us. Combine the others you named and they do not have the experience of any one of us."

Treville raised an eyebrow quizzically. "As you have been an integral part of their training these past months, are you now saying that you doubt the level and success of your own instruction?"

"You twist my meaning." An edge of exasperation crept into Athos' voice; the discussion was not going as he expected.

"Then what do you mean?"

"I repeat, they are untried and untested. My concern, Captain, is that you put yourself into unnecessary danger by having men with you who have not been put through the pressures of an attack."

"Why should there be an attack? After all, this is a diplomatic mission to Normandy and an errand to a monastery."

"You are forgetting the numerous reports of attacks along that route."

"I'm not forgetting anything. There were the attacks and musketeers were dispatched to deal with the perpetrators," Trevilled insisted. "There have been no further reports for a while now so that it can be safely assumed that the 'fraught dangers' of which you speak are no more."

"We do not know that for certain, Captain, and I hope I am wrong but that diplomatic mission may not be as straightforward as you think likely. All I ask is that you have some musketeers with you that have seen battle," Athos persisted. To the uninitiated, he exuded a calm, quiet stillness but Treville saw the tightening of the facial muscles, indicators of his controlled frustration.

"Your concern is appreciated and duly noted but my mind is made up, especially about why you are to remain." The Captain rose from his seat and came round the desk to perch on its edge in front of the young man who watched him with an unwavering level of intensity.

"You will take over command of the musketeers," Treville announced.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Whatever Athos thought Treville had been about to say, command of the musketeers was not it and he was immediately on the defensive. "Me? But there are others far more suited to the responsibility."

"Name one."

"Pascal," the name came readily off his tongue.

"A hot head and yes," Treville continued as he saw Athos cynically raise an eyebrow, "I know that you have your moments but at least I know they are well-intentioned."

"Duprés then."

"He does not have the respect of the men," Treville countered immediately.

"Remy has the seniority ," Athos insisted.

"In years, I grant you," the Captain responded. "I have a feeling that he is even older than me but he does not have the strategic ability."

"Why would strategy be needed in Paris when you are gone for two weeks at most?"

Mon Dieu but he was sharp! Treville knew he had to be careful about what he said, conscious that he did not want to tell any deliberate lies to the man he was intending to leave in command of the musketeers but reluctantly aware that it might become a necessity if Athos continued to probe.

"More than likely there will be no need for strategy," he patiently explained, "but I would be failing in my responsibility if I did not plan for all eventualities."

Athos remained undeterred. "Delacroix then."

"A fool!"

Athos blinked hard at Treville's criticism. He had rarely heard the Captain be so openly negative about one of his own men.

The Captain went on, "He may have the skills and experience and hails from a minor noble family but he is shallow, self-centred and a social climber. He would use increased access to the court as a means to an end, namely his own. Besides, I am only too aware of the animosity that exists between the two of you ..."

"But if you were to make him acting captain, you know that I would accept his command," Athos interrupted.

Treville looked at him long and hard. "Actually, I believe you would, if reluctantly, but I think he would make decisions of which you would not approve and it would create additional tension between you."

"You think he would easily follow my command instead?"

"Not for a moment. I think he will go out of his way to make things very difficult for you but I trust in your ability to manage him and remain detached rather than he is to manage you objectively." Treville looked Athos in the eyes to make his next pronouncement exceedingly clear; he had to make the troubled younger man understand how he was regarded. "This is one decision that did not take me long in the making. You know that I have long looked upon you as my second, albeit in an unofficial capacity. This provides the opportunity to put it on a more formal setting. I have already informed His Majesty. What say you?"

Athos maintained eye contact as he spoke. "I am honoured and will do all in my power not to let you down."

"The only way you could let me down would be to turn me down."

"Then I pray that I will not be a disappointment to you. I admit that some of my decision making in recent months has not ..." His voice trailed off.

Treville reached forward and laid a hand reassuringly on Athos' shoulder. "Much has happened to you in that time, I agree, and you have been sorely tested but I have witnessed you wrestle with and overcome everything. I am sure that I would not be the first person to tell you to cease doubting yourself. Mayhap this increase in responsibility has come at an advantageous time. We have just talked of others facing personal tests; now you face another, one to be viewed in a positive light. Rest assured, there is no-one else in the musketeers that I would trust more to command them." He gripped Athos' shoulder tighter.

"I thank you... but I would be failing my duty in that new responsibility if I did not stress that I would be happier if you would only reconsider and take the others with you, or at least one of them. Porthos, perhaps."

"No, Athos, they all remain with you. If you're taking care of my men, then I need to know that there are those whom I can depend upon to take care of you." Treville studied the face before him; the curling fringe only partially concealing the brow creased in puzzlement as the words were assimilated; eyes narrowed as, behind them, a plethora of turbulent thoughts waged their own war. In the years he had known the musketeer, Treville recognised the signs and was prepared to wait patiently; it would not take long as Athos, the thinker, contemplated all angles. It took mere seconds; the features relaxed momentarily and then the guard went up. Green eyes met his and there was an almost imperceptible dip of the head in acquiescence.

Treville cleared his throat, patted the younger man's shoulder in appreciation and straightened up. "There is much to do before I depart, not least some letters to write." He moved around the desk to resume his seat and picked up his quill pen.

Athos took that as a dismissal and rose to his feet. "I'll inform the men, advise the armourer for ammunition, give orders for the mounts, ensure that medical supplies are packed and arrange provisions from the stores. Is there anything else you wish me to do?"

Treville gave a wry smile at the immediate confirmation of his appropriate choice of leader. "No, I think that just about covers everything."

Athos gave a slight nod in deference and turned towards the door but urgency in Treville's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Wait, I almost forgot." He reached into a drawer and retrieved a large bunch of keys. Coming to his feet again, he crossed the room to the musketeer. Taking Athos' right hand, he held it palm upward and laid the keys across it. Without letting go, he looked at Athos directly with a fierce intensity. "Make sure you familiarise yourself with the locks for all these keys."

"I will," Athos replied, suddenly discomforted by Treville's unwavering stare.

"All of them." He stressed the word 'all'. "You understand me?"

"Yes, Captain." He frowned, his breathing shallow and quick as a mantle of tension shrouded them both.

It was over as swiftly as it began. Treville released his hold, turned and strode briskly back to the desk. He did not glance in Athos' direction any more. "That is all. I shall inform the garrison of your command just before I leave."

Athos hesitated but recognised that he had been summarily dismissed when Treville dipped the nib of the quill into the ink bottle and prepared to write. Leaving the office, he shut the door quietly and stood perplexed on the balcony. Familiar voices drifted up from the table immediately at the bottom of the stairs and he knew his friends were waiting for him to join them, eager to know why he had been summoned and expecting it to be information relating to a new mission. They could never envisage what this one involved.

A deep belly laugh from Porthos and a spluttering from d'Artagnan suggested that something Aramis had announced was the cause of their mirth but their attention immediately came to him as he descended the stairs. D'Artagnan jumped to his feet to greet his mentor and vacate the seat at the head of the table. Before resettling himself further down a side bench, the youngest musketeer in the group of friends had poured a cup of wine and handed it to Athos as Aramis pushed a plate of bread and cold meats in his direction also.

"Eat," urged Porthos, "and tell us what's going on."

Athos took a mouthful of smooth red wine and picked up a slice of meat, not really hungry but using the time it took to chew the piece to absorb what had transpired in Treville's office.

"So, what are we going to be doing?" d'Artagnan demanded. The young man hated any inactivity and had been like a hound straining at the leash from early morning when the Captain had refrained from putting the four friends on any duty roster for the day and now Athos understood why.

"Not much," Athos announced, concentrating on pulling some stringy fat from the meat but fully aware of the exchange of glances around him. "Correction; I am preparing for Treville to lead a group of six musketeers on a two week mission leaving this afternoon and you three are going to do some physical training with the newest recruits."

"And we're not going with him?" Aramis objected. He, too, had assumed that their place would be beside their Captain.

"Not this time," Athos confirmed.

"We're just left behind training recruits and doing palace duty?" Porthos growled, a scowl darkening his features in stark contrast to his levity minutes beforehand.

"Not quite," Athos paused for dramatic effect and looked at each of his friends in turn. "You are tasked with watching my back whilst I command the garrison."

The ensuing stunned silence was short-lived as d'Artagnan let out a whoop of delight, Aramis clapped Athos repeatedly on the back in a hearty congratulation and Porthos moved in to give him a bear hug. As order resumed, they enthusiastically clamoured for more information and Athos delivered an abbreviated version of what had transpired in the office, holding back instinctively on some of the points that filled him with an inexplicable unease.

"You don't seem very happy about it," d'Artagnan observed eventually.

"I am," Athos tried to convince them but Aramis, ever one to gauge his friend's brooding nature, shook his head.

"But? Your voice includes a very definite 'but'," he pushed.

There was a long pause before Athos spoke again, his voice soft and worried, his eyes fixed on the wooden table top. "Something is wrong, very wrong."

"What d'you mean?" Porthos asked incredulously. The elation at Athos' initial news quickly dissipated as he saw the apprehension in his friend. "How can it be wrong? The Captain's leaving for two weeks and put you in charge. 'Bout time too, if you ask me." In Porthos' mind, he genuinely believed that his friend fully deserved the recognition, even though for a short time, and did not understand the subsequent reservation that seemed to be eating away at him.

"What is it?" asked d'Artagnan. "What's bothering you?"

"I cannot explain it but there was something wrong in Treville's demeanour, the way he behaved, some of the things he said ..." As his words trailed off at the memory, his face betraying his concern, he looked round at his three friends.

When he spoke again, the pain in his voice was unmistakable. "I have a feeling that Treville does not expect to come back."


	3. Chapter 3

_**My grateful thanks to those of you who have reviewed so far or who are 'following'. I am touched by the response and your encouragement of this, my first foray into fan fiction for several years and certainly for this programme to which I have no claim. I admit the opening chapters are something of a 'slow burn' and hope that you will stay with me as the plot unfolds and tensions rise.**_

CHAPTER 3

Black robe billowing behind him in his haste, Cardinal Richelieu descended the stone spiral stairs steadying himself with a hand against the wall. With an initial glance backwards over his shoulder to ensure that he had not been followed, he moved with grim determination to a side chapel in the dimmest, farthest corner of the undercroft. Meagre light entered the area via a small window that just erupted above ground, the glass so filthy that it was miraculous any illumination filtered through but it was enough for him to see a cloaked figure awaiting him.

He had lost count of the numerous occasions he had met with Milady de Winter in places such as this and he resented the mess she had made of matters prior to her disappearance. If he had had his way, she would have met with an unfortunate end but then he had expected that her musketeer husband would have dealt with the problem himself. It seemed, however, that he was equally incompetent for word had subsequently reached the Cardinal from another reliable source that she had been seen fleeing Paris after a disturbing street battle between said Athos, his friends and a criminal group.

At the thought, Richelieu grunted with disdain. That particular musketeer was set to be a thorn in his side even now. He, his immediate colleagues and Treville were party to too much information surrounding Richelieu's well-intentioned plan to have assassins dispose of the Queen and have her replaced in order to secure a male heir to the French throne. The subsequent revelation that the Queen was with child after such a long time and, coincidentally, occurring after her enforced refuge at the convent in the company of two of the King's own guards gave his suspicious mind ample food for thought, especially when he had accidentally come across the musketeer Aramis promising faithfully to protect the child with his last breath. It was a sight and information well worth storing for another day …

The Cardinal's motivation was always for the well-being of France and the manipulation of the inept monarch. They were rapidly heading to a situation where Louis XIII would not even take breath without Richelieu's approval but he needed to avoid intervention from meddling soldiers of the King's guard.

"You made sure that you were not seen or followed here?" Richelieu snapped. He knew he was stating the obvious but he could have done without the necessity of training another informant in the rudiments of secrecy. Hooded and wrapped in a dirty brown cloak, the man before him nodded that all was well. Clearly in awe of France's First Mnister the man was, as yet, an unknown quantity and Richelieu was not prepared to trust him fully. He seemed too eager to please and so would take careful watching and possible nurturing. However, his impatience to be of service might be enough to speed up the process of leading him far enough into the Cardinal's machinations that he would not be able to withdraw.

Richelieu pulled a rolled scroll from an inner pocket and extended it towards the other man, refusing to let go until he had made his next point patently clear.

"Here are the details of Treville's route and schedule. It displeases me that he has favoured the musketeer Athos by giving him temporary command of the regiment. I had looked to plant one of my own choosing in such a position but Treville had the ear of the King first and made his recommendation. No matter; I will deal with the musketeer and his friends later.

"In the meantime there are much more pressing matters, such as the King's Captain. Treville must be allowed to complete his visit to the Comte d'Arrentiere even though he will find that it was a wasted journey. The reports of the Comte's fractious nature have been exacerbated by those in my employ and he will be easily appeased by diplomatic words. The Captain ought to be able to do that task without too much difficulty. Likewise, the detour to the Abbot at Saint Michel is but another ruse to delay Treville." Richelieu left unsaid that he had need of valuable time in order to complete certain intrigues but the Cardinal's newest recruit was far from being privy to the finer details.

"I have marked on the map exactly where Treville is to be intercepted; he is to be allowed to leave the monastery and begin his return journey to Paris but it is imperative that he get no further."

Having given his instructions, Richelieu abruptly turned with a dramatic sweep of his cloak and took two steps before stopping, looking back at the man and adding as an afterthought in a tone he hoped sounded sincere, "I have every faith in you and your skills so I trust I do not have to repeat the niceties of the scheme. We have discussed them at length before now. Suffice it to say you know what needs to be done. Leave no witnesses!"


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

The end of that first day found Athos alone in the office that was now his. Working by candle light, he put the finishing touches to the day's garrison log, conscious that Treville kept detailed reports about the minutiae of military life. Having spent the afternoon pouring over the entries for the previous month, Athos felt that it was time well spent as he had a better understanding of what was expected of him on a daily basis for the smooth running of the garrison and the well being of the hundred men in his charge. It had been a fascinating revelation to read of all that Treville did without drawing attention to his tasks. Athos was determined that he would not give his commanding officer any cause for complaint on his return – again that stab of doubt entered his thoughts – _IF _he returned. He shook his head to dispel the negativity, knowing that he had no logical grounds for fearing the worst.

Instead, he allowed himself a small measure of satisfaction that the rest of the day had passed without incident. The preparations for Treville's departure had gone smoothly with all requisite supplies readily available and Athos had carefully listed what had been used so that he might implement their rapid replacement where necessary. Admittedly there had been some widespread surprise when the accompanying troop had been named, not least amongst the chosen musketeers themselves, but reticence had swiftly been superseded by a sense of honour and suppressed excitement.

True to his word, Treville had informed the men of the change of command immediately prior to his departure. Having been ordered to stand beside his Captain on the stairs, Athos had a clear vantage of the men's responses as Treville made his announcement and had been quietly encouraged and humbled by the plethora of smiles, spontaneous words of support and nods of acceptance in his direction.

Towards the back of the mustered men, though, there stood a small group of musketeers whose faces definitely did not reflect their endorsement of the new arrangement. Delacroix look positively hostile, his features thunderous whilst his small retinue scowled their displeasure. Athos tried to ignore them and hoped that Treville had not witnessed their reaction but even he knew that was a vain hope; very little passed by the attention of the Captain. If there was to be trouble, however, he would deal with it in his own way and if he needed to inform Treville later, then so be it.

A hearty knock sounded at the door and he paused mid-word, pen poised over his work.

"Enter," he instructed and instantly bit his lip and screwed up his eyes, castigating himself; he was already beginning to sound like the absent officer!

The door burst open and three familiar figures filled the room with their presence and noise.

"If you won't come to the food, then the food has no choice but to come to you," announced Porthos. Athos scrambled to retrieve the log and ink well as Porthos deposited a heavily loaded tray in the middle of the desk and d'Artagnan set down two wine bottles and four goblets beside it. Aramis pulled up two chairs and briefly went off in search of another, returning moments later with one and arranging the seats to his satisfaction round the desk.

Athos sat back and watched as they worked round him: Aramis hummed to himself as he busily ladled steaming stew into bowls and handed them out, d'Artagnan poured the wine and Porthos cut the freshly made bread into thick slabs.

They had eaten several mouthfuls and sipped at the wine before Athos broke the contented silence. "You do not have to wait on me, you know," he gently chastised.

"Don't worry, we won't," Porthos assured him, "but if you had taken much longer with your paperwork, I'd have started chewing on the table legs downstairs. This was necessary before I starved to death."

Aramis gave him a withering look and took up their reasoning. "Captain Treville has ordered us to look after you and we will not have it said that we do not take our responsibilities very seriously. From this moment, you had better not think of skipping meals, drinking alone or trying to survive without sleep."

Under any other circumstances, as an intensely private individual, Athos would have taken exception to their presumed control but as he looked around at the three grinning at him, he took their well-intentioned pronouncement in good part. "I do not see quite how you will manage that," he challenged, a gleam in his eye.

"We'll find a way," d'Artagnan replied confidently.

"Course," Porthos added. "Ol' Serge is in on it with us, so if you think you can get rid of us with some mind-numbing job that keeps us from the garrison, he'll make sure you get regular food. Even says he's going' to spoil you an' make you something special."

"That is very good of him but unnecessary," Athos began, not wanting to create more work for the old cook.

"That's what I said to 'im," Porthos explained. "Can't 'ave you gettin' ideas. You're only in charge for two weeks an' then it's back to normal."

"Exactly," Aramis agreed, collaborating in the good-hearted teasing. "So that's taken care of the food. D'Artagnan is set to sleep on your floor to ensure that you rest and will maintain a clean supply of linen shirts – we can't have any lowering of standards." The last comment was directed at d'Artganan whose mouth had dropped open in surprise at his apparent new role of minder and launderer.

"And what will you do?" Athos asked, a faint smile on his lips.

"Me? I shall supply the wine every night and drink with you until it has gone," Aramis declared lightly.

"You mean you'll stop me from getting drunk," Athos clarified, the smile disappearing. All of them fell serious at that comment.

"If need be, my friend," Aramis said softly, risking incurring the wrath of Athos as he reached out a hand and cupped the back of the other man's neck . "Things are better for you of late and we have seen the change in you, how much more settled you appear to be and we only want the best for you."

It was a veiled reference to Athos' estranged wife, Milady de Winter: the trouble she had caused in recent months as agent to Cardinal Richelieu and the self-destructive guilt Athos had endured for years as a result of the devastating damage she had wrought on their marriage. Events had reached a climax in recent weeks when the musketeers had entrapped her, feigned Athos' death and fought bitterly to save d'Artagnan's love, Constance, who was being held hostage by Milady. On the verge of killing his wife, Athos had shown mercy and banished her from Paris, threatening that he would mete out the ultimate justice should she ever dare to return.

"You deserve this opportunity," Aramis went on, "and we have every faith in you. We want you to know that we are here for you and will support you in everything." All three nodded in agreement as Athos' head dipped in embarrassment at their warmth and openness. He still found it hard on occasions to accept the notion that he was worthy of their love, trust and friendship and felt the pressure of their heartfelt words aligning with those of Treville so that his overwhelming fear in his new role was that, were he to fail, he would be letting them all down.

"I thank you." His voice was low and charged with emotion. "I welcome your support."

Porthos cleared his throat. "Glad that's all cleared up then. So, tell us what you've spent your day doing so far."

Athos visibly brightened at the change of subject. "Mundane stuff really. I have read through a number of documents so I know how Treville maintains his records, completed an order for supplies, worked out duty rosters for the next three days, almost finished today's log," he indicated the discarded task with a tilt of the head, "and am mentally preparing myself for my first meeting at the palace tomorrow."

"That shouldn't be a problem, surely?" d'Artagnan asked. "You've accompanied Treville on numerous occasions."

"And let him take the lead. I usually only offer opinions when bidden. This will not be quite the same. It primarily depends upon the mood of the King and you know how mercurial he can be. He is also resistant to any significant change so he might not take kindly to my adopting a more prominent role despite Treville's smoothing of the way," Athos explained.

"And you have Richelieu to contend with," Aramis pointed out grimly. "Do you have any idea what relations are like between him and Treville at present?"

Athos shrugged. "Strained to say the least. For a man of God, he is very unforgiving and he will not forget that we conspired successfully to reveal his plot against the Queen."

"He probably is not too pleased about losing one of his more active agents," d'Artgagnan added, refilling his wine goblet and drinking deeply at the reminder of Milady's activities.

"Anne had outlived her usefulness for him," Athos added, still feeling strange at saying her name aloud in the presence of those closest to him. "If she had not gone when she did, I doubt he would have found gainful employment for her again. It might have been even worse for her." He did not need to mention Richelieu's penchant for having any potential embarrassments or opposition removed by any means available.

He emptied his goblet and set it down with a sigh, "And now, gentlemen, I thank you for your company but I bid you goodnight."

"What?" Porthos exclaimed. "But the night is yet young!" His objection was cut off by a dig in the ribs from Aramis.

"It may be for you, my friend, but the 'Captain' here has things to which he must attend," said Aramis, gently teasing.

D'Artgagnan rose to his feet and gave his own mock salute, "And as we have already discussed how the new 'Captain' will need his beauty sleep, we most definitely should take our leave." The three laughed good naturedly as Athos rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"I will have you know that I need to finish the log but before that, I intend to make my rounds of the garrison, after which I fully intend to get an early night. I will at least attempt to rest," Athos retrieved his hat from a shelf behind him and walked to the door, opening it for his friends and eager to usher them out. "But do not let me stop you from continuing with the evening's entertainment in some local hostelry." He watched as d'Artagnan piled up the tray with the evidence of their shared supper and picked it up before heading towards the door.

"I do believe that I, too, feel the need of an early night," Aramis announced.

"In whose bed?" d'Artagnan quipped, focusing on balancing the tray's contents. It was only Athos who witnessed the fleetingly pained expression on Aramis' face and knew it was instigated by his friend's hopeless love for the Queen and the memory of their ill-timed night together at the convent.

He lay an understanding hand on the man's shoulder, staying his departure and reaffirming the safety of the treasonous secret they shared. "Oh, I think Aramis will be content with his own company this night." Their eyes met. "Sleep well, my friend," he said softly.

"You too," Aramis replied, coughing to cover the emotion of the moment before departing the room.

Porthos hung back until d'Artagnan had bid his goodnight and left. "You know, a walk in the night air might clear my head before I go to bed. I'd be happy to take a turn around the garrison with you. If you would like some company, that is?"

Athos smiled at the big man and guided him through the door with a well-placed hand between the shoulder blades. "I thank you for your offer; another night perhaps. Tonight I feel it is something I need to do alone, to have words with any of the men who might still be about."

Porthos just flashed him a warm, understanding grin before he disappeared into the night. Pausing to glance around the room that was suddenly bereft of the big personalities that had gathered there, Athos smiled to himself, thankful once again for the men he was proud to call friends and the ways in which they were prepared to demonstrate the bond of acceptance and brotherhood that kept them together.

Given the chill of the evening air, his long, measured strides meant that he did not take long to circumnavigate the garrison, noting the lights still emanating from sleeping quarters and the sounds of muted laughter from those wiling away their time in the warmth of the mess. He paused to check doors, trying their handles and reassured to find them locked and secure. The horses were settled in the dimly lit stables, snorting and whinnying at the unexpected human intrusion so he left them in order to head to the main gate, pausing to exchange words with the men of the watch and gratified by their earnest well wishes for his brief promotion.

To the casual onlooker, he was a confident man, easy in his movements and comfortable with his increased responsibilities but, to the few who knew him well, the set of the shoulders, clenched jaw and the wary eyes darting in every direction all served to indicate a heightened tension. He sensed that he was being watched, that someone had monitored his every move from leaving the office, even if they had not actually been in physical pursuit, and it unnerved him; the garrison, with its guarded entrance and high walls, should be a place of sanctuary for the soldiers within. Although much of their daily work was mundane and repetitive, they were a highly trained, élite band of warriors and could be expected to risk their lives in the face of untold dangers, so it was only natural that they looked upon the only place that many called home as a place of rest and safety within the city.

Instinctively, Athos did not perceive a threat to the musketeer regiment but something much more personal and he stopped in the centre of the empty, semi-dark courtyard determined to face whatever menace was lurking.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Thank you so much for the continued reviews. They are much appreciated and I love some of your speculation that is beginning to appear. The entire story is planned and a number of chapters already written (I began it in January!) so I am trying, as far as possible, to do a daily update. I do hope you continue to enjoy this chapter. The main characters, as ever, are not mine.**_

CHAPTER 5

"If you want to say something, Delacroix, say it to my face rather than skulking in the shadows," Athos ordered, his voice and manner exuding an air of calmness and authority. He waited and, for a fleeting moment, thought he might be succumbing to paranoia but eventually, from a darkened doorway to the right of the garrison entrance, there was movement as Delacroix revealed himself. His leather doublet was open and he was hatless; lank, greasy blond hair framed a face contorted with anger. Athos waited as the other musketeer approached, coming to a halt several feet away. From the way he was swaying, he had obviously been drinking and that made him unpredictable, dangerous even.

"Yes, Captain. Of course, sir. Anything you say, sir," he sneered. "But perhaps I should be bowing," and he dipped in a mock bow, overbalancing and staggering a couple of steps to recover himself, "Monsieur le Comte. De la Fère, isn't it?"

Athos felt his stomach constrict. How did Delacroix know? He had kept his full identity secret for years; even Treville and the other Inseparables had only been party to the truth in recent months. To his chagrin, he knew that even then he was withholding information from them but being open and trusting in the past had come close to destroying him and he would not, could not let that happen again; he had to maintain control at all costs.

Delacroix took another shaky step forward. "Always wondered why Treville favoured you when you turned up. Didn't think he was the type to pander to the aristocracy. Isn't that why the King likes his straightforward way of talking? He certainly hasn't done me any favours, passing me over for the likes of you. But then, my family's title isn't as important as a comte, is it? How does that work now? Your being here for the last few years, I mean?"

Athos refused to respond to the deliberate baiting. Instead, he stood silent, watching and listening as Delacroix slowly began to circle him, ever talking. He slipped a hand behind his back and his heart sank as he failed to feel the reassuring touch of his main gauche; he had left the office without any weaponry. In his mind's eye, he saw it all laid out in order on the coverlet of the bed in which Treville usually slept. That was his first mistake – a potentially serious one - and he would never make it again; never would he make the erroneous assumption that the musketeer garrison was a place of safety.

So be it, if he had to take on Delacroix with his bare hands, he would. He may not have the strength and stamina of Porthos but the latter had imbued him with the finer points of 'fighting dirty' and he knew how to look after himself. If it came to a fight, for that matter, the noise would rapidly bring other musketeers running. Light filtered from enough windows to prove that men were still awake and the watch were not too far away. A shout from him would swiftly alert them but he was not ready to do that yet. Maintaining an even, lightly distributed weight enabling him to withstand the onslaught of a sudden attack, he turned to keep Delacroix in front of him.

"You must have brought shame to your aristocratic family. I mean, what's happened to your obligations, your tenants? Abandoned them, have you?"

The taunts went on and still Athos remained expressionless even as he suppressed the mounting fury within. He remembered his words of warning to d'Artagnan on countless occasions. If he fought with his heart rather than his head, angrily succumbing to the deliberate provocation of an enemy, then he would be lost. Enemy? Was that how Athos saw Delacroix now?

"You have had too much alcohol and it has loosened your tongue. Go to bed now and this will be the end of it," he warned.

"You're a fine one to talk, telling me I've had too much alcohol when everyone knows you're the garrison drunk," Delacroix spat.

Athos flinched as if struck. The man's words rang uncomfortably true and he could not help wondering how many of the men harboured the same thoughts. Hadn't he told Treville that there were others better suited to this temporary role? How could he command and lead men if, every day, they were watching him to see if he would make a wine-induced calamitous error? Soul destroying doubts began to creep into the core of his being but Delacroix was speaking again.

"You've been causing a lot of mayhem in Paris recently: pitched battles in narrow streets, setting off explosives, leaving a trail of death and destruction, shooting a man who's supposed to be your friend. Goodness, if that's how you treat your friends, I'd hate to see what you'd do to someone you didn't like."

Athos bit his tongue to refrain from making a rejoinder dripping with sarcasm.

"Has d'Artagnan forgiven you yet? I wouldn't. Then there was your fake death and the Captain dragging us all along to a pretend funeral. Brave warrior indeed! What occasioned all that? I would go as far as to suggest that it had something to do with the woman you took hostage in the market square. From what I heard, you were well in your cups that night but I suppose you needed it for courage, didn't you? It wasn't particularly honourable behaviour, was it, threatening a woman? But then she was no ordinary woman, was she? She was your wife. Is that the real Athos? The real man left in charge of the King's Regiment? Someone who exercises his power by intimidating women? It would be a terrible thing if the other men were to find this out. I'd watch my back if I were you."

Athos felt sick. His heart was racing and he struggled to draw breath. How had Delacroix got this information? It was incomplete but Athos knew he could never explain the complexity of the situation to this man, nor would he want to. He fought to steady his breathing as Delacroix stared at him, fully appreciating the success of his words and the agitation that they had caused.

"Are you threatening me?" Athos asked at length.

Delacroix shrugged infuriatingly, "I'm giving you some advice, that's all. It's up to you whether or not you heed it but you certainly don't deserve this position."

"And you do?" Athos interrupted.

Delacroix glowered at him, his hands clenching in tight fists. Seeing the action, Athos tensed and prepared himself for a launched attack but it was not forthcoming at this time. "Yes, I do. Somehow you always manage to inveigle yourself into the Captain's regard and he takes so much notice of you. Why is that? It can't just be because you are a nobleman." He sniggered. "We've already established that you are far from being noble so I'd say that makes me more of a nobleman than you, don't you agree? Why has he made you his second then, taking the place that is rightfully mine? Ever since you became a recruit, you have been a nuisance and it has to stop. I don't know how you've managed to gain such influence with Treville but this favouritism is misguided and it will be put right, you mark my words."

"What do you mean?" Athos demanded.

"I'm saying nothing more except that I shouldn't get too attached to your new role if I were you."

"It is but a temporary role," Athos reminded him innocently.

A chill ran down his spine though as Delacroix snarled, pointed at him and declared, "Your days are numbered." With his last vitriolic outburst, he turned on his heels and lurched in the direction of the barracks leaving Athos alone in the centre of the courtyard.

His steps were slow and heavy as he walked towards the stairs that led up to the office for he had the log to finish yet. Head pounding at the encounter, he was desperate for a drink but knew that recourse to a bottle would not solve anything; rather it would reinforce the perceptions of people like Delacroix. Even his friends had taken measures to curtail his intake this evening and he had never had the opportunity to explain to them that the decision to restrict his drinking was one that he had already taken of his own volition. Indeed, since the day when he banished his wife, he had drunk less, not needing the solace of a bottle to obliterate his haunting memories as frequently as before.

Despite his initial reservations about the temporary position, he had welcomed the new challenge as the day wore on but the gloss had faded in the light of Delacroix' resentment. He had anticipated that the man would be trouble but had not expected such an antagonistic display so soon and he was going to have to give careful thought as to how he was going to deal with any further confrontation, for it was sure to come. The hand he extended towards the balustrade visibly shook and it was with a troubled heart that he ascended the stairs and re-entered the office. A smothering silence fell once he had shut the door behind him, the camaraderie of the earlier meal almost forgotten, and he suddenly felt overwhelmingly lonely.

As the door to the office closed, another figure emerged from the shadows of the courtyard below. Having drawn his rapier in readiness to intervene should it prove necessary, Porthos now re-sheathed it and shook his head in disbelief at what he just overheard and witnessed. He cast one last look upwards towards the shut door, reassuring himself that Athos was safely within before he headed towards his own room to spend a restless night pondering the threat that had been exposed in the form of Delacroix.


	6. Chapter 6

_**To the Guests who have reviewed (and to whom I can't reply personally), many thanks for your continued encouragement. In this chapter, things are a little strained!**_

CHAPTER 6

Aramis and d'Artagnan were already seated at the courtyard table in the early morning and eating breakfast when Porthos emerged, lowered himself onto the bench and helped himself to bread and cheese.

"And a good morning to you too," Aramis greeted, wondering what had instigated his friend's dark mood. He had been on fine form when they had parted company the previous evening and Aramis surmised that he had slipped out of the garrison much later and gone to an inn where he had lost heavily in a card game. There was no other ready explanation.

"What?" Porthos was suddenly aware that he had been spoken to and he looked up, bread halfway to his lips, to see the other two regarding him closely. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Mornin'."

"Was it that heavy a loss?" Aramis inquired and, when Porthos seemed confused, he went on. "Gambling last night?"

"I didn't go," Porthos answered.

"Then why the long face?" d'Artagnan asked. "It's usually Athos who's brooding at the breakfast table."

"Where is he?" Porthos wanted to know. "Shouldn't we see if he's ready for breakfast?"

"I know we said we'd look out for him but he's quickly going to get very angry with us if we're so obviously watching his every move," d'Artagnan said worriedly. He had seen Athos when his temper was frayed and he did not want to infuriate him deliberately.

At that moment, Serge appeared from the kitchen and put another basket of freshly baked bread on the table. "You're too late. You've missed him," he announced, having overheard the exchange.

Porthos' head snapped up, attention diverted from the piece of warm bread he had just selected. "What? What d'you mean?"

"He was down for breakfast at first light. He had a hearty breakfast for him and washed it down with a tankard of ale," Serge talked as he wiped the table.

"How did he seem?" Porthos demanded.

"Right as rain. Not natural, if you ask me. 'E's takin' this new job far too seriously."

"Is he back in the office?"

The urgency of Porthos' questions may not have registered with the old cook but they had not gone unnoticed by Aramis and d'Artagnan who looked at him askance, their bodies leaning towards him in a united tension.

"No. He wanted his horse saddled and went for an early morning ride, said it would ..." but Serge left his sentence unfinished as Porthos leapt up from his place and ran towards the stable ignoring the calls of his perturbed friends as they followed at speed. All that went through his mind were Delacroix' final words about Athos' days being numbered and he feared that the musketeer would follow through with his threat by any means possible.

"Porthos, what is going on?" d'Artagnan asked as he watched Porthos move swiftly down the line of stalls apparently checking on the four-legged inhabitants.

Finding it too lengthy a job, he grabbed the arm of the stable boy who appeared at that moment carrying buckets of water. The sudden movement of the big musketeer startled the boy and he dropped both buckets, spilling their contents over the floor and the man's boots, eliciting an oath.

"How many horses have you saddled up this morning?" He still held onto the boy in a grip that had him standing on tiptoe.

"Only the one," the boy stuttered nervously. " For Ath... for the Captain," he corrected himself.

"No-one else?"

The boy shook his head.

"Has anyone saddled a horse for themselves?"

"Not that I know. I'm sorry if I done wrong."

Porthos suddenly realised how he was gripping the boy and, with a sense of guilt, he set him down on his feet, smoothed his rumpled shirt and patted him on the shoulder to let him know that he had done nothing amiss. "It's all right. My mistake."

The sound of horse's hooves in the courtyard alerted him and he disappeared out of the gloom of the stables into the sunlight beyond just in time to see Athos rein to a halt. The stable boy overtook Porthos at a run to stand at the horse's head as Athos slid from the saddle and removed his gauntlets.

"Where have you been?" Porthos demanded.

Athos was amazed at the outburst and glanced past Porthos to the other two men who merely shrugged in total bemusement.

"I went out for a ride." His eyes narrowed and his voice dropped dangerously as the joy and freedom of the early morning ride was instantly ruined. "I apologise for not informing you. I had not realised that I was required to ask your permission. I do not recall it being mandatory for Captain Treville to inform us of what he was doing and where he was going every minute of the day."

The two stood inches apart, the tension radiating from them palpable and disturbing to their comrades who moved to stand either side of them, prepared to act as mediators in a situation that, as yet, was beyond them.

"I was worried about you," Porthos ground out from between clenched teeth.

"I think you are taking Treville's instructions too much to heart, don't you?" The clipped consonants were a sure sign that Athos was on the verge of losing his temper, further verified by the impatient slapping of the gauntlets across the palm of one hand. "Do not worry, you will be the first to know should I ever require a nursemaid." He pushed past Porthos and headed for the stairs that led up to the office.

"That went well," breathed d'Artagnan.

"Will you please tell me what is happening?" Aramis insisted, seizing his friend by the arm.

Porthos ignored him and shrugged off the hand as he strode to the base of the stairs, his next words freezing Athos' ascent. "I took that walk in the air last night before I went to bed ... around the courtyard."

The ramifications of the meaning behind the words did not escape Athos who revolved slowly on the stairs to look down upon his well-intentioned friend, his eyes flitting from the one to the others. "You had better come up and bring them with you."

And he was gone, leaving Porthos to watch his retreating back. Aramis and d'Artagnan joined him.

"What on earth have you done to upset him? What is all this about?" Aramis tried again.

"Why don't we let our leader explain?" Porthos said as he followed Athos.

Minutes later, gathered in the office, Athos stood at the window staring out at the courtyard which was slowly filling with men as, behind him, Porthos repeated verbatim what he had overheard the previous evening.

Aramis slammed the wall with a fist in anger. "I knew he was going to cause trouble."

"How does he know that information?" d'Artagnan asked. He looked worriedly at Athos' back. "He didn't hear it from us."

Athos turned to face them. "I never thought that he did. As far as I can tell, there are only two people that could have given him that level of information: Anne or Richelieu. Presuming that she followed my advice and left Paris, that leaves the Cardinal."

"And my money would be on him," Porthos asserted.

"But would he know all that detail?" d'Artagnan asked.

"I would not be surprised," Athos replied. "He probably knows a lot more besides. I have no doubt that he would have made extensive inquiries into her background when recruiting Anne. She had only to let one small detail slip and he would absorb it, investigate it and use it if he thought it would serve a purpose."

"So you think that Delacroix is working for the Cardinal now?" Aramis wondered.

"He is disgruntled with his lot and seems to see me as the cause of all his ills. Richelieu has his own grounds to distrust us and Treville after what happened regarding the Queen and must be wondering when we will use his treachery to bring him down. Given the depth of his deviousness and suspicions, he has no reason to suppose that we would maintain our silence so I believe it is feasible that he would look for any way to discredit or, at the very worst, destroy the five of us. Delacroix would be an ideal choice to have as his insider in the garrison to report back on us."

"You really think he would be Richelieu's spy?" d'Artagnan was incredulous.

"Given what he said to me last evening, yes. I think he could very well act as an informant to Richelieu; he does not have the initiative to act or scheme on his own but would readily follow instruction if he thought he would benefit by it."

"And that benefit would be?" d'Artagnan still found it difficult to comprehend that Delacroix could be so underhand. He knew there was no love lost between the man and his mentor but he had never fully understand why and had certainly never witnessed any negative behaviour on Athos' part towards the other musketeer that could possibly justify Delacroix's very public, snide comments on occasions.

"To be rid of me somehow, some way," Athos said, simply.

"So what do we do now?" d'Artagnan wanted to know.

"Watch Delacroix like a hawk," Porthos added. "Seems like Treville was right to leave us behind to look out for you, brother. I don't know how, but he must have had some idea that there were going to be problems."

Athos' brow creased, "Now I'm left wondering what other ideas Treville might have had before he left. If I had a bad feeling then; it is even worse now."


	7. Chapter 7

_**I'm early uploading today and am putting up two chapters as I have a long drive later. I hope you enjoy and thank you once again for the comments.**_

CHAPTER 7

Whatever the quartet had feared, it failed to materialise in the early days after Treville's departure and the garrison settled into an easy yet thorough routine under Athos' watchful eye. Duty rosters were compiled; training sessions were varied and intensive; musketeers were sent out to deliver missives from the King or were assigned to patrols that remained quiet whilst guard duty at the palace was singularly uneventful.

The highlight in the first few days was when the King announced that he intended to go hunting and musketeers were duly dispensed to escort him. It was assumed by the palace that Athos would attend regardless and it offered him the rare chance to arrange things to be in the company of his friends. Even that proved to be uncharacteristically fruitless though as the hunting party had one brief sighting of their target which went to ground and was never seen again. The disgruntled group returned to the palace and a truculent monarch made his feelings so plain that Athos was left with the impression that the lack of a kill for the kitchens was down to him.

Even petty crime on the Paris streets appeared diminished. The garrison yard was swept more regularly and almost forgotten recesses of the outbuildings were explored and cleared out. Athos kept the paperwork under control with surprising ease: ordering stores and equipment, checking them on delivery, maintaining the garrison log and writing innumerable letters were some of the relentlessly mundane tasks but they did not prevent him from spending time moving amongst the men, encouraging and talking with them. On occasions, he would take up a similar position to Treville on the balcony, leaning on the balustrade and surveying activities below him.

Still Athos would not relax or allow himself to be lulled into a false sense of security. He knew that Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan were surreptitiously watching Delacroix and his friends for any hint of mounting dissatisfaction but they, too, were suspiciously compliant. Had Porthos not witnessed the unfavourable exchange in the courtyard on that first evening, Athos might even have started to wonder if he had imagined it.

After the morning musters and distribution of duties, Athos would don hat and dress cape and head to the palace for his daily meeting with the King and Cardinal. To begin with, he had been filled with trepidation but it had been unfounded, as he soon discovered. The King had been amenable and even Richelieu seemed to go out of his way to be co-operative, patiently explaining anything that was unclear or new to the musketeer, given his sudden elevated status. He listened attentively, half expecting Richelieu to adopt a condescending or dismissive tone but it was not forthcoming and, growing increasingly confident with the new arrangement, Athos proffered opinions and suggestions that were duly considered.

Somehow, though, the days were not long enough and he repeatedly worked late into the night, eager to maintain control. There was, sadly, no repeat of that shared meal in the office but sporadically he joined a body of men in the mess for a simple repast, choosing to sit alone in a corner but within earshot of the conversations and happily joining in when the occasion allowed. Even more infrequently, he snatched a lunch in the courtyard with his friends, hovering near the table where they were usually positioned and eventually sitting with them to swallow some bread and cheese but uncomfortably mindful of the need to be seen to share out his time and attention between all the men in his charge.

Twice he left the confines of the garrison to dine with Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan at a nearby inn and they were halfway through the meal each time before they saw him visibly relax into their company once more, although the respite from tension and responsibility was short-lived as he always resolved to leave them early, ever conscious that he should not stray far from his office in case his advice was sought or an urgent missive came from the palace.

Although the three were mindful of protecting their leader, the spontaneous plan of Aramis never had the chance to be fully activated and d'Artagnan was never to be found sleeping on the floor of Athos' ground-floor room where the latter always retired at the end of his day, adamantly refusing to use the low cot in the corner of the office. It had been an unspoken agreement between them that their rented rooms in the city would not be used in the interim. At their insistence, Athos had reluctantly consented that at least one of them would always accompany him in his daily duties and, if truth be told, he was glad of that reassuring presence. Otherwise he was painfully aware that his responsibilities threatened to drive a gulf of separation between them.

The other three updated him on Delacroix and his movements. Whenever the musketeer was off duty, he was never to be found within the confines of the garrison; instead he and, at times, several of his friendship group, disappeared into the Paris streets, returning to the barracks late in the evening and never inebriated after that initial confrontation. There were seven men who were recognised as his 'followers', a worrying number if they were choosing to pursue a different path of loyalty and certainly enough to bring pressure to bear on other musketeers. Together, the _Inseparables _drew up a shortlist of those musketeers they deemed weaker or more likely to be swayed if Delacroix were so inclined but, thankfully, the list was very small, three names at most. Rather it was the raw recruits who would be more susceptible and Porthos agreed to monitor their welfare whilst Aramis and d'Artagnan opted for sharing the tasks of watching Athos and Delacroix – for different reasons.

On the eleventh morning after Treville's departure, Athos returned from the palace, his normally stoic features obviously troubled as he strode through the yard. Oblivious to the sparring that was underway, he ascended the stairs and entered the office, slamming the door shut behind him. It had been Aramis' turn to accompany him this time and now he paused at the group's usual table and poured ale into three cups, waiting for d'Artagnan and Porthos to find an appropriate moment to break off from their sparring partners and join him. They had settled on the benches, downing mouthfuls of ale and wiping away the sweat from their exertions before either of them found their voices.

"Care to share what's going on or are we waitin' on him to call us up to tell us?" Porthos inquired, head inclining briefly in the direction in which Athos had disappeared.

"Is he upset?" d'Artagnan asked in consternation. "Or has the Cardinal said something to make him angry?"

"Considerin' Athos says he's been too nice recently, perhaps he's at last shown his true leanin's," Porthos surmised.

"Not yet but the scope is there," Aramis began. "The King has dropped a last-minute surprise. He has announced a visit from an Austrian dignitary in five days' time."

"Short notice, I admit, but why should that be a problem? Treville'll be back then," Porthos observed.

"It's what's planned but Athos'll have to get everything organised. He can't expect the Captain to sort out something of this magnitude on his return," explained Aramis.

"That shouldn't be difficult for Athos then; we know he's good at organising things," d'Artagnan said assuredly.

"That's as may be but I think he was rather hoping that his tenure as Captain would end quietly and unremarkably. Now he's got to turn his thoughts to security, routes to and from the palace through the city, protection details and the like. Our resources are going to be stretched as the King is wanting this to be impressive and very public," Aramis went on.

"How long is this dignitary staying?" d'Artagnan wanted to know.

"Less than a day. He's arriving one afternoon, meeting with the King and then attending a formal reception in the evening before he departs the next morning."

Porthos sighed, "We're definitely going to be stretched then if everything is going to pass off smoothly."

"Exactly," Aramis agreed. "Hence Athos' worry. It may be for less than a day but there's plenty of opportunity for something, anything, to go horrendously wrong."

"Richelieu is just waiting for the musketeers to foul up," d'Artagnan said regretfully.

"Yeah and if that happens when Athos has arranged everything and Treville has been away, that'd make him even more delighted," Porthos added cynically, "considerin' how much he loves us after the incident with the Queen."

"And if what we've been thinking about Delacroix is even half right, he could choose this event to reveal his hand. He's been suspiciously quiet for far too long," warned Aramis.

"If he has been biding his time, he wouldn't have known that this visit was going to happen. You think he was just hoping for some random opportunity to be able to cause trouble?" d'Artagnan queried, his face puzzled.

Aramis looked thoughtful. "I'm just thinking back to what Athos said days ago when he was wondering if Delacroix could be working for Richelieu. If the Cardinal is the one giving the orders, he could be keeping Delacroix under control which would explain why he has been maintaining a low profile of late."

"You think the Cardinal knew this visit was imminent then?" Porthos questioned.

"I doubt it. Don't forget I was standing there when the King announced it. Richelieu looked just as surprised as Athos but we know the dear Cardinal's capability of turning anything to his advantage. This, unfortunately, plays to his strengths."

"But if he wanted to use Delacroix to cause trouble whilst Athos was in charge, time is running out," pointed out d'Artagnan. "Treville is due back at any time in the next three days."

There was a lengthy pause before Aramis spoke again, the handsome features troubled. "That's what is intended but I think I'm beginning to understand just why Athos has been so worried since all this began."


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Treville rode alone at the head of the troop preferring to keep his own company as he fought to contain his barely suppressed anger. His men would have been fools if they had failed to notice his rapidly deteriorating mood over the last few hours and they chose to follow in silence, any utterance passing between them one of muted necessity and nothing else. He knew that he was being unfair, his attitude towards them a seeming punishment that was thoroughly undeserved; they had done all he asked of them and more. However, as they approached Paris on the final leg of their return journey, his anger and unease combined to produce an unbearable atmosphere.

As far as he was concerned, the mission had been a travesty and validated his suspicions that it had been a ruse to remove him from the garrison, from Paris and, far more importantly, from the King's side. Although he had spent every day on the road regretting that he did not have the _Inseparables _amongst his troop for easy companionship and conversation, he could comfort himself in the knowledge that they were in a position to protect the King – unless something catastrophically untoward was unfolding in the city. The only reassurance he had there was that no messengers had been sent to meet him with anything of import and he was sure Athos would have seen to that first had the need arisen. He was, however, keen to return as quickly as possible and to that end, he was pushing the men, horses and himself to the limit. By his reckoning, they were just over a day from the city and would arrive at the garrison by mid-afternoon on the fourteenth day of his mission; the limit of what he had anticipated.

With the end of the journey in sight, he allowed himself to consider the other great worry that had been occupying his mind since the venture had first been mooted by the King. He did not, for one moment, think that there was anything underhand in Louis' instruction to him, although he could not help but wonder if the suggestion had initially come from the Cardinal himself and that it was all part of a burgeoning plan on the part of the First Minister that was consolidated by the visit to the monastery. If that were the case, it confirmed to him that he and the men accompanying him were in grave danger, those poor souls merely by association.

Since the moment that he and Queen Anne revealed to Richelieu that they had overheard his confession to Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan regarding the proposed demise of the Queen, things had been difficult to say the least between him and the Cardinal. Yes, they strove together to conceal this knowledge from Louis and acted out an existence that was as near normal as possible but their working relationship was seriously compromised. Although they did feel an occasionally grudging respect for each other, the overwhelming sentiment was a strong dislike. With the knowledge harboured by Treville and his four men, Richelieu would forever regard them as a threat to his position and his hold over the king would potentially be rendered tenuous. Treville recognised that if he and his men were systematically removed by whatever means from the scene, Richelieu could safeguard himself – if he also had the ability of exercising some power over the Queen. Whether or not he had found such a means was unknown but, suffice it to say, he would be endeavouring to secure some way of controlling her; he could hardly pursue an assassination route again.

Treville had methodically been amassing concerns regarding the Cardinal for years but his evidence would be open to question until the Cardinal's confession; put together, the lot was irretrievably damning. Everything was carefully documented and the Captain had taken pains to secrete the valuable records in a place known only to himself. He had, however, left Athos with the means to discover the documentation although the young man did not realise it yet; all he had to do was follow Treville's final instruction to the letter. He trusted him to locate it and immediately realise its importance. There was a momentary panic as Treville realised that he was presupposing that the musketeer would survive him. What if the unthinkable happened? He swiftly shook off the feeling; there was nothing to be gained by worrying about that now.

The Inseparables were more than capable of looking after themselves and each other; that was the prime reason he had left them all together in Paris rather than on the road with him for here spelt undoubted danger. He was not a man given to flights of fancy but ever since this mission had been initiated, he had sensed the worst. Perhaps it was the warrior's intuition for he had heard many a soldier say that a man just knew when his time had come. He had fought in enough battles where he had experienced fear but that was a vital element in remaining alive, honing the skills and heightening the awareness, but he could truthfully avow that he had never had the sense that it would definitely be his last conflict. That was until now when he felt the weight of a doomed enterprise from the outset.

He had insisted that the men with him were extra vigilant from the beginning, warning them of the attacks that Athos had referred to, aware that none of them had been involved in the resultant skirmishes to make the route safe so that they would be alert but for the wrong reasons. They had responded to his orders and, as the days passed, he saw the disparate group bonding as a unit and a blossoming camaraderie developing between them. They sought to please him, never having been in such close, sustained proximity to their commanding officer since they joined the regiment. Initially his heart felt a sadness at the realisation but then swelled with pride as he watched them relax into their roles.

The journey to Normandy had proved uneventful and they met with Arrentière who had been incensed at the probability of his loyalty to the crown being brought into question. He admitted expressing voluble annoyance and bitterness at the prospect of having to levy higher taxes on his tenants when he believed those accountable for the royal coffers were squandering what had already been collected but he vehemently denied the allegations that he was prepared to raise an army to demonstrate his point, nor had he been discussing such a proposition with neighbouring nobles, soliciting support. He had taken pains to have Treville accompany him to the region's estates, introducing him to the other land owners in order to illustrate his allegiance; he was – and ever would be - loyal to the King.

Satisfied that there was not going to be an imminent uprising in the area, Treville and his men had taken leave of the placated comte and began to retrace their steps. Once more they were on the alert and once more their journey passed without incident except for the one day when the weather conspired against them so that they were forced to ride for hours through torrential rain until it gave over in the evening. They camped beneath a clear sky on sodden ground in saturated clothing, reliant upon only one small fire for heating some food in a vain attempt to stave off the chills. Treville was reluctant to light more and doubled the watch so the rest periods were exceedingly short; duty, the cold and discomfort all contrived to make a miserable night for the men.

The next night had them sheltering at the monastery where the entire troop were welcomed within the walls to be met with a hot meal and a bed, albeit a narrow, hard one for each soldier. The repose was welcome and did give Treville a break from the incessant worry wrought by the mission. He handed the Cardinal's letters and papers to the abbott and waited upon him the next morning to complete his replies. The soldiers were back on the road in the early afternoon.

So it was that they were a day from the outskirts of Paris when the musketeers were intercepted.

The attack, when it came, was brief, brutal and deadly. Outnumbered by more than two to one, the musketeers did not stand a chance. The inexperienced men did their best and stood their ground for a little while but Treville's shouted orders were soon unheeded as the men fought for their very lives, some not even having the time to cry out as they died. A couple were fortunate in that they delivered their first – and last – fatal blows to their masked opponents. An initial burst of pistol fire had been swiftly replaced by the clash of blade on blade but it was a musket ball from a concealed assailant in the nearby trees that shot Treville's horse from under him. Kicking his feet clear of the stirrups, he threw himself to the ground and rolled clear of the animal's flailing hooves as it screamed in its death throes.

Regaining his feet, he unsheathed his rapier, swivelling on his heels with a speed that belied his age to face the approaching aggressor. He lunged, thrusting the weapon towards his enemy's chest but the man rallied, partially blocking the move. So intent had Treville been to meet the assault that he had not noticed the mask had slipped from the attacker's face. It only took a second for Treville's eyes to widen in furious recognition.

"You!" he spat, his guard momentarily down in disbelief.

Then his world exploded in indescribable agony before the darkness claimed him.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Afternoon, all. Continued thanks to those who have reviewed. I love it that some are guessing about things. I thought Serge ought to make an appearance in this chapter with some acerbic wit! Events take a turn for the worse!**_

_**In Dumas' novel, Treville has a town house and I have opted to incorporate this into my story as it is an integral part of my plot so please forgive me for this.**_

CHAPTER 9

Treville was two days overdue, the Austrian dignitary was arriving the next afternoon and the overriding mood within the garrison was far from buoyant. Athos had spent much of the time pouring over paperwork and plans for the visit, drawing up security details, creating team leaders, meeting with them to go over the finer details of the arrangements and watching briefly as Porthos led the soldiers in drill practice. Aramis was tasked with uniform and weapon checks prior to Athos' final inspection of the men on the day of operations; woe betide any musketeer who did not look his best or arrived on parade with a neglected weapon.

As the day of Treville's expected arrival had come and gone and there was still no sign of him, Athos tried to tell himself that there could be any number of reasons as to why the officer had been detained, all of them innocent. It still meant that he had very little rest that night, exacerbating a period of sleep deprivation that had commenced with the announcement of the impending visit.

At the next meeting at the palace, it was clear that the King was not amused by the continued absence of his Captain of the Guard and seemed to take it as a deliberate, personal affront rather than a growing cause for concern. He only began to be appeased when Athos confidently outlined the security plans for the dignitary's visit, although Richelieu tried his best to test the musketeer's patience with a relentless series of probing questions designed to highlight glaring omissions and loopholes in Athos' thinking. He was disappointed though, for Athos successfully responded to each one, demonstrating his thorough preparation. The arrangements could not be faulted by either man but that did not prevent Athos from spending that afternoon reviewing all the arrangements once more and insisting that his team leaders meet with him again to explore an even more imaginative range of 'what if' scenarios.

"He won't stop to eat with us; says he's got too much to do," d'Artagnan announced as he rejoined Porthos and Aramis at their usual table in the warmth of the early evening before the dignitary's arrival. The Gascon had just knocked tentatively at the office door and asked their leader if he would accompany them for something to eat, the request being a direct result of Serge's complaint that earlier in the day he had retrieved yet another untouched tray of food from the office.

Serge appeared and slammed a jug of ale down in front of the trio. "You asked me to make sure he was eatin'. Well I'm trying but I can't be there standin' over 'im whilst 'e clears 'is plate, can I?"

"You've done your best," Aramis acknowledged. "It's this visit that's pre-occupying every waking moment for him. I'm sure he'll be better once that's over and Treville gets back."

"If 'e gets back, you mean," Serge sniffed.

"Why do you say that? Of course the Captain'll be back," d'Artagnan objected at the cook's tone.

"I'm only repeatin' what some o' the men are startin' to say. They reckon as something's 'appened and Treville won't be comin' back."

"An' who's sayin' such things?" Porthos asked, his voice deceptively quiet as he poured a tankard of ale, inspected the surface of the dark liquid and used his finger to retrieve a dead insect that he flicked away in one easy movement.

Serge eyed him warily, wondering if he had spoken out of turn but the big musketeer was too busy downing his drink. The old man spoke, "Well I hear it's mainly coming from Bertram, Faron an' Maline."

"And who are they saying it to?" d'Artagnan said nonchalantly, reaching for his own tankard.

"Anyone who'll listen."

"Then you just stop 'em from saying such things until we know for definite," Porthos insisted, endeavouring to inject his words with some encouragement when he was fully aware such fears had already crossed the minds of those gathered round the table.

Serge snorted dismissively and then changed the subject. "You stayin' 'ere to eat then?" he wanted to know.

"Not tonight," Aramis answered. "We'll finish our drinks and head to The Wren to see what the innkeeper's offering."

"My stew not good enough for you?" the old man bristled.

"Easy," Aramis stood and laid a hand on his arm to cam him. "It's a busy day tomorrow; we've eaten here for the past few nights and we would welcome a change of scenery, that's all."

Serge visibly relaxed. "As long as that's all." He looked at the three in turn and they all nodded vigorously, not wanting to hurt his feelings. "You want me to try again with 'im?" he asked, gesturing towards the office.

"Please. He must be getting hungry by now but even if he's not, he's got the sense to know he'll need to eat tonight because he won't know when he's going to get the chance tomorrow," Aramis reasoned.

Serge merely snorted and disappeared back into his kitchen.

"It didn't take long for the speculation to start, did it?" d'Artagnan observed softly once the three were alone.

"Especially when that speculation starts with Bertram, Faron and Maline," Porthos growled, " seein' as how they're such good friends with Delacroix."

"Is this just a ploy to knock musketeer morale or do they know something we don't?" Aramis wondered.

Porthos shrugged. "Whichever it is, it means trouble and it has to be linked with Delacroix."

An hour after the three friends left the confines of the garrison to spend the evening at The Wren, work was still ongoing in the office. True to his word, Serge had delivered another meal to the acting Captain, scowling furiously at him as he slammed a bowl of hot stew down in the middle of the papers strewn across the desk.

Meeting the old man's glare, Athos gave a hint of a smile. "Are you trying to tell me something, Serge?"

The old man harrumphed and crossed his arms in an attempt to look a little intimidating. "I'm not getting' into trouble with your friends anymore because you can't be bothered to eat. I also told 'em I wasn't goin' to stand over you to make sure you did. Now is that what you're wantin' me to do? If that's so, I'm tellin' you now I have better things to do with my time and that's includin' feedin' a mess room full of hungry musketeers."

Athos looked suitably chastised, his tentative smile growing, "I know the others gave you instructions and I have not been very co-operative. For that I humbly apologise, especially if they are making things difficult for you. I will eat the stew; just not yet. I want to finish something first." He looked at Serge who obviously was not convinced. "I promise," he added, moving the bowl to one side and resuming his scrutiny of the paperwork.

"Just make sure you do," was Serge's parting comment.

Alone again, Athos sighed as the light had grown too dim so he lit several candles, positioning them strategically on or in the vicinity of the desk. Having spent the preceding hour re-reading his arrangements for the following day, he felt that he needed a change and began to study the list of food supplies needed by the garrison in the near future, as reported to him by Serge. Carefully he compared the requirements with the parchment bearing the order for the previous month and once more since assuming command, he was grateful for Treville's meticulous record keeping.

Not for the first time, he wondered if Treville ever had anything resembling a personal life. He seemed to live and breathe the regiment and the _Inseparables_ had often joked that the man appeared to live in his office. As befitting his status, he had procured and maintained a small house not too far from the garrison but he seldom spent time there, tending to leave it in the capable hands of Pièrre, an old retainer. Instead, he preferred to use the low cot in the corner of the office. At whatever early hour the quartet of friends settled for breakfast, Treville was either on the balcony scrutinising the arrival of men before they mustered or already at his desk where he remained, save for inspections and visits to the palace, until well after the last duty change and even then flickering candle light could be seen through the shutters, indicating that he was set to work late into the night.

Athos began to appreciate the lonely position in which the officer found himself. Despite being expected to participate in palace affairs and events, Treville, first and foremost a skilled and dedicated soldier, endured rather than relished the superficial and sycophantic court relationships and machinations. It was an isolated existence and whilst Athos and his brothers enjoyed more freedom and camaraderie with the man than their colleagues, there was still that unspoken boundary between the Captain and the _Inseparables_ that was rarely crossed publicly for fear of fuelling an accusation of favouritism. Even so, there remained a handful of musketeers who resented the rapport between Treville and the four young men. Unbidden, the names of the disgruntled few came to mind and, of course, first on the list was Delacroix whilst the others were all musketeers who seemed to have gravitated towards his assertive personality. As a result, these men did not have the strength of bond that united Athos and his brothers but they were a formidable group in their own right and it had taken Treville's calm but indisputable authority to keep them in check. Athos sighed to himself, hoping that Delacroix and his followers would not take advantage of Treville's absence, making his life difficult and thereby undermining his temporary command. Things had been quiet of late and the last thing that he wanted was for the enthusiasm of Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan in protecting him to create tension or worse amongst the main body of soldiers so that Treville returned to a rift within the garrison.

He spooned some stew into his mouth and chewed reflectively. Try as he might, he could not bring himself to trust Delacroix. As swiftly as he had the thought, he dismissed it as unfair; he may not always have seen eye to eye with Delacroix but it was not conducive to a good working atmosphere if he were automatically suspicious of the man and every move he made.

Shaking his head to dispel the uncharitable thoughts he was having, he drew parchment, quill and ink well towards him as he set about writing up the day's report, breaking off periodically for another mouthful of food as he made a decision. The day had been uneventful; even his meeting with the King had passed without problem as Louis' mood had been convivial and light, Treville's continued absence seemingly forgotten. The King's boyish nature revelled in a joke that he had made at the Cardinal's expense. Even Athos had allowed himself a slight upturn of the corners of his mouth at Richelieu's evident discomfort, silently congratulating the monarch for his witty turn of phrase instead of the usual petulant outburst.

The report was nearing completion and Athos suddenly resolved to join his friends at the tavern. He was missing their company and good humour and he was determined that he was not going to be isolated from them any longer than was absolutely necessary. He reached for another spoonful of food but it had gone cold, the remainder congealing in the bottom of the bowl. It was a waste and his hunger was not satisfied but that could easily be remedied at the tavern along with good wine and companionship.

He turned his attention back to the report, finishing it within a few minutes with a flourish. Rising to his feet, he had just reached for his hat when the sound of rapid feet on the staircase distracted him and the door burst open to reveal Serge, out of breath and eyes wide with alarm.

"Tell me you ain't eaten the stew," he pleaded. "Tell me you've been your usual awkward self and not touched it."

"What? Why?" Athos looked towards the bowl and Serge took a step towards it, groaning loudly as he realised that over half the original contents had been eaten. "What's wrong with it?"

"It's poisoned, that's what," Serge announced, wringing his hands in despair. "There was nothing wrong with them mushrooms when I brought 'em in. I picked 'em myself; I know what can happen if you get the wrong 'uns."

Athos froze, wondering if he had heard correctly. "What exactly has happened? Tell me quickly, man."

"I was puttin' fresh mushrooms in the stew an' went out and collected 'em this morning, I did. I know the difference between a good mushroom an' a bad 'un; have done for years. They were all good, I swear." The old soldier was shaking, his voice cracking with emotion as he recounted his story.

Athos retrieved a chair from against the wall and pushed the man down onto it before he fell.

"Go on. What happened next?" He wanted Serge to explain but the chill that gripped him told him that he already knew what was about to be divulged.

"I'd got the boy to prepare 'em and there they were, in a big bowl on the side, large as life and ready for using. I starts the cookin' and tells the boy to add the mushrooms to the pot so he does. I serve it up as the men come in from duty but now some of 'em, those that come in first, they're gettin' sick. They're rollin' around in pain and some of 'em have started throwin' up. Those that have eaten since then are turnin' nasty as they've all worked out the only thing they have in common is the stew and they've started having a go at me, saying as how it's my fault.

"At first I tell 'em there's nothin' wrong with my cookin'. How many years now have I been doin' the cookin' and supplyin' the meals? You ever known me to serve up a bad meal or poison the men?" He appealed to Athos for support and the younger man shook his head in an attempt to reassure the cook. "So I goes back into the kitchen and looks around and that's when I see it. The boy's left the bowl an' it's still got a few bits o' mushroom in the bottom so I looks at 'em closely. They weren't the ones I'd gathered, I swear it. Now the men are getting sick an' a whole heap of others are going to start feeling it soon." He paused for breath.

Athos raked a hand through his hair, his mind racing as he inhaled deeply. "If there's room, get those already sick into the infirmary. Send to The Wren to get Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan back here. Thank goodness they decided to go out to eat tonight; I'm going to need their help, especially Aramis. Someone else can go and seek out the physician. I need to know how many men are affected and how badly. Do you have mustard seeds?"

Serge's eyes widened at the question. "Of course, I use them for seasoning."

"Good. Pound them into a powder and add to warm water and dose everyone who ate the stew but has not shown any symptoms yet. I've heard Aramis speak of it; it'll act as an emetic. Get them to expel what they've eaten before they're fully affected. Quickly now."

Happier now that he had something to do, the old man made to leave the room but was stopped as Athos spoke again.

"Serge, when you have prepared it, you had better start with me first."


	10. Chapter 10

_**Thank you once again for all reviews; I do welcome feedback and would be delighted to read where some of you think this may be heading. I do want to improve my story-telling so all suggestions would be gratefully received. Events certainly begin to escalate from here on in.**_

_**This is a longer chapter as I have to apologise about the lack of an update tomorrow. Work commitments and a play rehearsal tonight won't allow for some fine tuning of the next chapter but I will defintiely be back before the week's end**_

CHAPTER 10

In the tavern, Aramis, d'Artagnan and Porthos had secured a table in a dimly lit corner and were already well into a second bottle of wine when the serving girl approached them, bringing their order of venison stew.

They ate in silence for a few minutes until Porthos slammed down his spoon and sighed in frustration.

"This ain't right," he objected.

Aramis and d'Artagnan looked at each other and waited for him to elucidate further although they had a strong idea as to what was to come. After all, they could not help but share his sentiments.

"We all know Athos is the natural leader an' Treville has looked on him as such for a long while. Came as no surprise to me that he put 'im in charge now; quite right too an' not before time but I'm tellin' you, I don't like it. It's splittin' us up. He should be here with us now, sharing a meal, having too much to drink. I wouldn't even mind if he just sat there, too far in his cups, not sayin' anything and being his usual moody self. That's what I'm used to and I ain't used to him not being 'ere. I'm not goin' to get used to it."

There was nothing the others could say to contradict Porthos' grievances for they were of a similar opinion. They were a close-bound quartet and they would follow Athos with undying loyalty but his absence from their group was keenly felt. Duty and responsibility kept him busy by day and late into the evening and, as with Treville, Athos was mindful not to show preferential treatment to his friends. They fully understood his motives but it did not make their sense of loss any more acceptable; if anything, he had isolated himself from them even more than was necessary. Whilst it was a temporary command, they saw an end to it and knew that a restoration of their familiar relationship would ensue but with each day passing that Treville was overdue, their unspoken fear that something untoward had happened to their Captain escalated and questions naturally began to rear their heads as to who would take over the permanent mantle as leader of the musketeers should the need arise.

Athos was more than capable, of that they were certain, and they would never deny him such a prestigious promotion; he had, after all, lost so much in the past and public recognition of his ability was long overdue but, on a purely selfish level, they were afraid that it would permanently shift the dynamic of the group and they shied away from the prospect of things never being the same again.

"I miss him," Porthos added simply, his dark eyes signalling his inner misery.

D'Artagnan pushed his food around the bowl. "There will be an obvious explanation to Treville's delay," he said softly, more in a vain attempt to convince himself than anything else. He paused until aware that the others were watching him and he raised his eyes to meet theirs. "There has to be."

"At least the responsibility is keeping Athos from the bottle," Aramis noted. "That has to be a good thing."

"I was afraid we were going to lose him after that show down with Milady when he banished her," Porthos admitted.

"He didn't drink as much as I expected," d'Artagnan added, "but I have often wondered whether or not he would follow through with his threat." The three fell silent, remembering all too clearly Athos' words when he had ordered his wife to go to Spain, England or anywhere, so long as it was not France and then he had gone on to make it clear what he would do were she ever to reappear in Paris.

"I hope she has the sense to stay away. I, for one, do not want to think of the repercussion should she ever return. As far as she is concerned, I think he is still far too fragile and I would not want to predict how he would react on seeing her again," Aramis said, his eyes sorrowful as he thought about recent incidents.

Subconsciously, d'Artagnan's hand went to his side to the place where Athos had deliberately shot him in the ruse to entrap Milady de Winter and, through her, Cardinal Richelieu in their intrigues against the French crown. "If his responsibilities stop him from dwelling on her, then I can put up with him being distracted for the present." He was suddenly uncomfortable, unsure how his words would be received by his friends but desperate to disclose what had been bothering him for some time. "I went back and retrieved his locket," he abruptly announced.

Porthos rounded on him. "You did what?"

"His locket ... the one he always wore, the one that was his constant reminder of her," he couldn't bring himself to utter the name of the woman who had come so close to destroying the man he idolised and himself in the process.

Aramis put a hand on Porthos' arm to stay his protest. "When?" he asked gently.

D'Artganan shrugged, "I don't remember exactly. It was after Constance said our relationship had to end because of her husband. I suddenly found I'd walked back to the place where we had that pitched battle and I walked to the archway where Milady was holding Constance hostage. In my mind, I was going over and over it again, each time with different outcomes; wondering what would have happened if Athos had run her through with his sword. Then I saw it lying there where he had thrown it down. I know, for him, doing that was a break from the past, an attempt to break from her and it was such a final gesture. I was worried, though, that he might regret it and I didn't want that. I will keep it safe and I hope he'll never find out that I've got it but it just seemed the right thing to do at the time."

There was a long pause as they were lost in their individual thoughts regarding recent events and the toll taken on the group, not least upon their fourth member.

"It was a good thing you did," Aramis reassured him, "and I know that you will keep it safe but I, too, hope there is never an occasion where he finds out. Perhaps, when we are convinced that he is strong enough and totally free of her in his mind, the three of us will share the responsibility of destroying it once and for all."

Porthos nodded his silent agreement and the two of them looked searchingly at d'Artagnan who opened his mouth to speak but before he could say anything, the door to the tavern burst open and a wild-eyed kitchen boy from the garrison rushed in, his head twisting as he sought the familiar faces. Spotting them in the corner, he was barely half way across the room when his thin, unbroken voice rose in a cry.

"You have to come quickly, Serge says. Somethin's happened. The men are fallin' sick."

The boy was gone with no more explanation. The three musketeers shared a look of total bemusement and then leapt to their feet. The inn had fallen quiet and those gathered watched the men's hurried departure, falling back to give them a clear passage across the large room, only to refill the space as they passed. As the door closed behind them, the silence erupted into a buzz of eager, speculative gossip.

Thankful that they had not strayed far for their evening meal, the three took off at an easy run, staying together as they headed for the guarded entrance where they worryingly found only one person on duty, leaving the garrison vulnerable. Porthos' rapid inquiry revealed that the second guard had gone to see if he could render any assistance. Furious, he went after the man and found a scene of utter chaos.

At first glance, some fifteen to twenty men were spread throughout the courtyard, most ailing and the few trying to help. Three sat hunched over on benches, heads in hands and buckets between their feet. Four more lay on the ground, two of them disarmingly still with colleagues crouched in concern beside them whilst the other two moaned loudly as they curled into foetal positions, arms wrapped round their bodies in pain. Another two had slumped down walls to sit dejectedly, foreheads resting on knees as Serge tried to persuade them to drink something from a cup. Another three were at different points in the yard, leaning against brickwork or wooden posts as they forcibly ejected their earlier meals.

Looking up, Serge caught sight of the new arrivals and, visibly relieved, he hurried over to them, desperately hoping that Aramis, at least, would take over some control from him.

"Serge, what's happening?" Aramis demanded, glancing round at the men sprawled on the ground.

"The stew was poisoned. Athos ordered me to make a mustard drink and dose the men so that's what I'm doin."

"Why are the men out here?" asked Porthos.

"Too many of 'em. The infirmary's full and others are in their quarters."

"Where's Athos?" d'Artagnan demanded.

Serge jerked his head in the direction of the stairs. "In his office." How quickly the office had ceased to be the domain of Treville. D'Artgagnan had already begun to take the stairs two at a time with Aramis close behind when they heard Porthos ask a question of the old man and they paused mid-step for the answer.

"Did he eat the stew?"

"Yep," Serge responded miserably, afraid that the three companions would hold him personally responsible for the poisoning of their brother. "But he ate later than the others an' he didn't eat it all. E's still taken the mustard drink though."

At Serge's words, the three ran up the rest of the stairs, concern etched on their faces and a little guilt in their hearts at having left Athos to dine alone. Together, they hurried to the closed door through which came the unmistakable sound of noisy, painful retching. Aramis and Porthos exchanged worried glances before the former pushed open the door and entered, crossing the room in quick, easy strides to drop to a crouch beside Athos and laying a comforting hand on his trembling shoulder. He sat, the bowl he had utilised clutched in his lap, with his head bowed and eyes closed as he struggled to steady his ragged breathing and control the waves of nausea that swept over him.

Aramis waited patiently until the green eyes opened and fixed on him.

"Done?" he asked simply, wondering if the mustard mixture had finished its work. Athos merely nodded, not trusting his voice as yet.

D'Artagnan, meanwhile, had gone to the small dresser beside the window and picked up the pitcher to pour fresh water into a goblet. The space left on the dresser top was the original place for the bowl. Treville had been in the habit of keeping a bowl and water at the ready for cooling his face on a hot summer's day and, more usually, for freshening up before heading to the palace or for removing the ink from his hand when he had been writing.

Curiously, Athos had initially refrained from touching anything used by the Captain unless it was directly necessary for the fulfilment of the job but when he caught Serge replacing the water in the pitcher one morning, he realised that it was a daily routine for the old soldier who did not want anyone to have the opportunity to say that he was failing in his duty to look after the garrison's temporary commander. Glad that Porthos was not around to witness the event and tease him mercilessly, Athos made sure that he drank several goblets of water during the course of a day and was happy one morning to note Serge's nod of approval at the half empty pitcher when he came to replenish the contents. The cook always checked the bowl to see if it had been used but it was always dry; neither of them could have foreseen the unfortunate use to which Athos had put it.

D'Artagnan moved silently to Athos' side and held out the goblet to him. Taking it with an appreciative dip of the head, Athos took a mouthful to rinse away the taste of burning stomach acids and spat it into the foul bowl.

"I'll get rid of that," Porthos offered quietly and relieved him of the bowl to remove it from the room. He was not gone long.

"Did I do the right thing?" Athos asked eventually, his voice a little shaky and rasping.

Aramis shrugged. "How quickly was it before the symptoms started manifesting themselves in the men?"

"According to Serge, some of the men were experiencing stomach cramps within thirty minutes of eating; others were a little longer and a few had started vomiting."

Porthos watched Aramis as he considered what Athos had told him. "Thirty minutes? That ain't long."

"It is actually the best news," Aramis began.

"I am not sure that I entirely agree with you," Athos interjected wryly. He looked up as d'Artagnan nudged his hand that held the goblet, urging him to take on some more fluid. Porthos snorted in amusement, assured by Athos' retort that he was feeling a little better.

"That's as maybe but the swift onset of symptoms suggest that the mushrooms were not seriously harmful. The longer the period before people fall ill, the more dangerous the mushrooms." Aramis suddenly became aware of three sets of eyes focused on him. He shrugged and added, "Apparently."

"I don't even want to know how you find out some of this stuff," Porthos quipped.

Aramis smiled innocently, "I must have read it somewhere or someone told me."

Porthos merely grunted. "Awful lot of 'some' in that answer."

"Nonetheless," Aramis continued, " it is reassuring that all of those stricken should make a full recovery and yes," he squeezed Athos' shoulder, never having removed his hand, "you did the right thing ordering the mustard water for those who had not yet fallen ill. Expelling the food before it was fully digested would avoid the worst of the symptoms. Tell me, how did you get the idea?"

Athos allowed a weak smile to lighten his features. "Contrary to what you think, I do listen to much of what you are saying. I confess that I do not recall the particulars but some weeks ago, you recounted an anecdote about a courtier to whom you had given the remedy."

Aramis gently struck his chest with a closed fist and assumed a pained expression. "You hurt me to the core, my friend. You claim to listen to much but not all. Ah me, at least I can be thankful that you listened to the pertinent details." He suddenly became serious. "How are you feeling? And answer me honestly."

"Sore," Athos admitted after giving the question some thought, "and tired."

"Perhaps you ought to get some rest," d'Artagnan suggested but Athos shook his head.

"There's too much to be done. I gave Serge several instructions but at least he managed to fulfil the most important two – finding all of you and preparing the mustard water. However, we have a very important visitor tomorrow and the guard detail needs to be strong. D'Artagnan, can you compile some lists for me?"

"Of course," replied the Gascon. "What do you need to know?"

"Which of the men are far too incapacitated to be on duty tomorrow? Who has taken the mustard water and who, like yourselves, did not partake of dinner here this evening? I need to adapt arrangements for tomorrow."

D'Artagnan headed towards the door, "I'll do it right away."

Athos turned to Porthos, "The mushrooms were prepared earlier today and left in the kitchen. I need you to go and ask some questions. Where were they left? Who was in and out of the kitchen during the day and was it ever left empty? Someone had the opportunity to access that area and substitute different mushrooms."

Porthos' eyes widened. "You sure about this? Couldn't ol'Serge have made a mistake? You're saying this was a deliberate act. Why?"

"Serge was adamant that he had gathered good mushrooms. As he said, he's been cook here for many years and he has never made such a potentially catastrophic error before. Why now on the eve of an important visit where the musketeers will need to be very much in evidence? This is nothing less than an act of sabotage and it is happening at a time when Treville is not here. Do you think it is coincidental that he has not yet returned?"

"When you put it like that, it certainly raises some questions," Porthos agreed. "Don't worry. I'll ask around and get back here as soon as I can."

When Porthos had gone, Athos shut his eyes and breathed slowly, deeply. A hand touched his forehead and then rested on his shoulder.

"How are you now?" The voice was calm, hushed and seemingly far away and seemed to lull him into a dreamlike, relaxed state. It would not take much for him to slip into much needed sleep.

"I will live," he responded and opened his eyes to find Aramis watching him closely.

Aramis gave a wry smile, "There is a certain unfortunate irony in your eventually eating something this evening."

Athos sighed, "It had not escaped my notice." He sat up straighter. "The physician has been sent for but so far has not arrived. I need you to look to the men and make sure they are recovering. It could well be a long night. Whatever they need, make sure it is provided." He ran a hand tiredly over his face.

"I will tend the men but first I am more concerned about what you need and that is rest. I understand that you have to review things for tomorrow but you can't do that until you have the updated information from d'Artagnan and I have checked on those who are ill. That is all going to take time, time enough for you to have some sleep. You've had little of that or food for days and now you've given yourself a very effective emetic. All of this will sap your strength. Rest." Aramis straightened up and went to help Athos but he objected.

"I won't leave the office," he insisted.

"I wasn't going to make you. Just lie down on the cot," Aramis suggested, trying to pull Athos to his feet but meeting with firm resistance.

"No," he said shortly, staring fixedly at the cot. "I shall be fine here."

Aramis followed his line of vision. "It's a cot. You will be much more comfortable there."

"I said no."

Aramis let go the breath he had been holding and guessed at the underlying problem. "Treville would not begrudge you using it, especially given the circumstances."

Athos shook his head vehemently, his face suddenly a picture of abject misery. "I will not use it; it is not mine." He paused and then whispered, "He will come back."

"Oh Athos," said Aramis gently, conscious that so much was going on in his friend's mind. He debated being realistic and opted for solace. "Of course he will but he needs to find both this place and you fully functional and neither will happen if you're asleep on your feet."

"I shall be fine here," he repeated and slumped forward with his arms on the desk and lowered his head to rest on his forearms.

Aramis pulled the thin coverlet from the cot and put it round Athos' shoulders before laying a hand on the tousled head. "Captain Treville will not mind you borrowing this, my friend. Get some sleep. I shall wake you when d'Artagnan and I have the information you need."

He headed for the door and nearly missed the mumbled comment. "You're welcome," he smiled and left.


	11. Chapter 11

_**My sincere apologies for 'disappearing' for so long but work commitments and play rehearsals have taken over somewhat. I have spent the last weekend writing and have several chapters in hand to upload though so I really hope you'll stick with me and the story. _**Thank you to those who have responded or who have it marked as follow/favourite. I hope this will not disappoint; it's still the night before the visit from the Austrian dignitary. **_**_

CHAPTER 11

Athos was in a deep sleep when he became aware that his name was being repeated softly over and over and it was only when he began to respond and stir that a hand touched him lightly on the shoulder. A slight groan escaped him as he struggled to make his eyes obey his wishes and open.

As Aramis watched his friend fight his way back to wakefulness, he knew that the man was utterly exhausted and far from being fully recovered. Athos was one who, on a mission or on the battlefield, would snatch sleep to recharge his energy levels, reacting to the slightest sound and coming fully awake in an instant. On those occasions, when he slept with a weapon at his side, it was never a good thing to startle him as the offender would likely be forced to freeze with a loaded pistol inches from his nose.

Athos yawned and straightened up in his seat at the desk, pushing back the coverlet and mindful of the ache in his back from his awkward sleeping position. He blearily looked around to discover his three companions watching him from various points within the room. Aramis crouched at his side again, Porthos had swung a chair around, straddling its seat and leaning on the back whilst d'Artagnan lounged against a wall, his arms folded.

"How long have I been asleep?" Athos asked, his voice still husky with slumber.

"Just over two hours," d'Artagnan answered from his place near the door, a smile playing across his young features.

"What?" Athos was horrified. "Why did you let me sleep so long?"

Porthos guffawed. For a man who loved his sleep, two hours would never be enough unless he was in the field somewhere.

Even Aramis grinned at the objection. "When the situation calls for it, allow me to explain the benefits to you of more than two hours sleep at a time!"

His faculties rapidly returning and recalling the reasons why he was to be awoken, Athos was immediately business-like. "What's the news? How many men are affected?"

D'Artagnan pushed himself away from the wall and moved closer to deliver his information. "Including you, forty-eight men are down."

Athos winced and ran his hands distractedly though his hair, adding to his dishevelled appearance. "That's almost half the regiment," he moaned.

"Don't despair," insisted d'Artagnan. "Again including you, twenty-nine took the mustard water,"

"And, like you, they are showing signs of good recovery. Give them a few more hours' sleep and rest and they should be fine for duties. They might feel a little fragile but nothing to keep them from their posts," Aramis added, having spent the time visiting each man in turn to assess his well-being.

"What about the remaining nineteen?" Athos demanded.

Aramis shrugged, "Not such an easy one, I'm afraid. Some of them have been very ill. The vomiting seems to have stopped at last but some are still experiencing crippling stomach cramps. I very much doubt that they will all be able to fulfil their duties tomorrow."

Athos sat thoughtfully, chewing at the skin on the side of his thumb. "You have their names?" he asked d'Artagnan, who nodded and stepped forward to place a list on the desk in front of him. He perused the names, immediately coming to a conclusion. "Some of us will have to pull double duties until we know if any of the really sick men can take their part. If they're feeling any better, some can replace mounted musketeers on escort duty – not all of them as they might not have their wits about them and I cannot put the party at risk. That way, at least some of them won't be required to stand for hours on end. It won't look good if I've got lots of men passing out whilst on guard or on parade. Thank goodness you ate elsewhere this evening."

"It's thanks to you it's not a whole lot worse," Porthos pointed out and, when Athos looked at him questioningly, he continued. "You've pushed everyone for the past few days out of necessity but you've eased up today and given the men some leeway. You trusted everyone to have a night off and not drink too much before such an important day. The men appreciated that so some opted to go and relax elsewhere…."

"And some poor devils opted to relax here," Athos interjected wryly. "Some evening of relaxation they have had! They end up victims of an act of sabotage. I hope this day will end more positively and that you have found out something about what has happened here." This last he directed at Porthos.

"You're not goin' to like it," Porthos began.

"I was already anticipating that," Athos admitted ruefully.

Porthos took a deep breath and launched into his account of what he had discovered. "There were a couple of times during the day when the kitchen was left unattended and no-one saw anything out of the ordinary."

"As expected," Athos said pointedly.

"But," Porthos emphasised, feigning annoyance at having been interrupted and dramatically building up the significance of what he was about to reveal, "Silvey and Massart …"

"Friends of Delacroix," Aramas added unnecessarily, smiling as Porthos scowled at him for yet another interruption.

"Silvey and Massart seemed to take an uncharacteristic interest in what was on offer for dinner. They stopped Serge as he returned to the garrison with his basket of mushrooms and then they turned up at the kitchen mid-afternoon asking questions about the food. Silvey wanted to know all about how it was prepared and was following Serge around, getting in the way."

"And what was Massart doing?" Athos asked.

"That's just it; Serge can't say. He was getting annoyed with Silvey's constant questioning and Massart was not always in his line of vision," Porthos explained.

"Leaving Massart to replace the mushrooms," d'Artagnan clarified.

Athos was re-reading the list of names d'Artagnan had supplied, slamming his fist on the desk top as he confirmed an idea. "Interesting that Delacroix and his friends do not appear on the list of the affected, not even one of them to redirect suspicions."

"Adds credence to their involvement," Aramis said and Athos nodded.

Porthos cleared his throat. "That's not all. There's a bit of bad feeling beginning to rear its head about Delacroix and his friends."

"How so?" Athos' interest was stirred.

"You've been giving them specific duties and several times the right musketeer hasn't turn up to do it. Oh the duty's always done – that'd soon draw unwelcome attention – but they've been covering for each other. Doesn't 'appen every day but enough that some of the men have begun to notice and talk about it."

Athos' facial muscles clenched in anger. "Anyone in particular?" he demanded.

Porthos shrugged, "All of 'em have done it at some time apparently but it's Delacroix mainly."

"Wonder where he's going," Aramis said, watching for Athos' reaction.

"And what he's doing," d'Artagnan added.

"More worrying than that is whether or not he's got something else planned for tomorrow." Athos reached for the papers that documented his arrangements for the visit.

"What do you think you're doing?" Aramis asked.

"What does it look like?" Athos responded. "I'm reworking duties for tomorrow and making sure that one of you is close to Delacriox. I definitely don't trust him now."

"Can't you find a task for him that'll take him out of Paris?" d'Artagnan wondered. He moved to the dresser to pour a fresh cup of water and placed it on the desk within Athos' reach.

"I could but I'd sooner have him where I can see him at all times. What's this?" He watched as Aramis put down something wrapped in a cloth beside the water.

"Dry biscuits, freshly made by Serge. Poor man feels so badly about what's happened that he can't rest so he's made biscuits for all the sick men. It's a good idea. The sooner you all start eating and holding down food the better, get your strength back. So, sip the water, plenty of it, and eat the biscuits- slowly. It's a start," Aramis ordered. "d'Artagnan will stay and help you with the duty roster to get it done more quickly. Porthos and I will do a last check on the men and, when we come back, you will settle down to rest."

With that, Aramis and Porthos left, the door closing soundly behind them.

Athos looked up at d'Artagnan and gave a wry smile, "And there was me thinking that I was in charge!"


	12. Chapter 12

**_Hi. Many thanks for the lovely comments from yesterday and glad the last line caused merriment! Aramis seemed to develop a mind of his own in that chapter! In fact several of the upcoming chapters seem to have taken on a life of their own and did not appear - or at least not in detail - in the original planning. So, it's the big day and the Austrian dignitary is due to arrive! _**

CHAPTER 12

When the garrison came awake at five the next morning, only five men were deemed too ill to take up their duties and most of the others had recovered sufficiently to undertake their original assigned tasks so much of Athos' efforts in reviewing arrangements had been unnecessary but he was relieved that he had done it nonetheless.

Serge had prepared a hearty breakfast, although many stomachs were still too frail to take on much beyond some dry bread, perhaps a little mild cheese and a small quantity of much watered ale. The stables were busy as horses were groomed to their normally high standard and beyond, leather was polished and metalwork gleamed.

Mid-morning saw the regiment filling the courtyard in precise rows as Athos moved grimly among them for a final inspection, pausing on a number of occasions to ask after the wellbeing of a particular soldier whose pale features were testament to his being one of the afflicted. Leather uniforms had been cleaned and treated, giving an impressive shine to the ranks of doublets in the morning sun; weaponry was immaculate amongst the sea of pale blue dress cloaks draped across the left shoulder and securely tied in front of the right armpit whilst broad-brimmed hats had been brushed free of dust and, where needed, sweeping feathers replaced. Horses were lined up behind all the men, heads tossing and bridles jangling as they sensed the excitement in the air and were eager for the off.

It was not a frequent occurrence these days for the regiment to move _en masse_ but when they did, it was an imposing sight and Athos suddenly found himself experiencing a hitherto unfelt emotion as he faced the ranks of men. It was undeniable pride that filled him and he was moved, finally appreciating that sense of satisfaction and barely concealed delight he had seen in Treville's eyes as the older man surveyed the musketeers on similar occasions. For now, though, these were Athos' men and they had met his demands of the past few days, many rising above the additional challenge of sabotage and ill health.

For a fleeting moment, his eyes sought out the figure of Delacroix and found him, fourth row back and flanked by his loyal followers. The man's face was dark, thunderous, as he stared back disrespectfully at his captain so that Athos could not help but wonder if his expression was because of his thwarted plans - the musketeers were going to be capable after all of fulfilling what was required of them this day – or if it presaged some other terrible event that would occur as the visit unfolded.

Moving to the front of the men, Athos issued final instructions so that even the horses seemed to fall obediently silent as his authoritative timbre carried across the yard. He refrained from going into too much detail, trusting that the men had been well-drilled over the preceding days. Pausing dramatically, he thanked the men for rising from their sickbeds and commended all of them on their preparations and final turnout.

He gave them a final smile of encouragement. "To work then, gentlemen. Those on foot, into formation; the rest, mount up."

With a hum of purposeful comment, the men fell out of line and regrouped as ordered. They knew what they had to do and they knew they were good at it.

Athos waited as his mount was brought to him and he pulled himself into the saddle with ease, thankful that their work was finally about to begin. He suppressed the last minute worries; they would not help now. He had explored every conceivable eventuality so that if anything happened, he had contingency plans filling his head. And if anything untoward did occur? Well, he would have to cross that bridge when he came to it, it was a pointless exercise to speculate any further. He had to remain constantly vigilant and to trust most of the men around him to do likewise. Delacroix was not included in that number!

He raised a hand and signalled for the lines of mounted men to move. As he spurred his horse forward, Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan fell into line behind him. He twisted in the saddle to do one final check and saw the trio grinning at him, nodding their own encouragement and approval to him. Appreciatively, he dipped his head, his heart skipping a beat as he faced front and led the regiment through the archway and into the Paris street, lined with cheering inhabitants as they were caught up with the pomp and ceremony of the day.

The mounted musketeers rode on, some heading to the Louvre and others, with Athos to the fore, heading out to rendezvous with the approaching dignitary's convoy outside the city and escort him into Paris. Those remaining on foot marched behind the horses, peeling off from formation in pairs to take up designated spots along the eventual route to be taken by the procession as it approached the palace.

As the escort party reached the outskirts of the city, Porthos urged his mount forward and drew alongside Athos.

"You want me to go back now?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, they've had time to get to their respective positions. All I need is for you to check that they are where they are supposed to be," Athos answered. "You remember where they are after I changed their duties last minute?"

Porthos nodded, "With three of them here, the other five are split. Silvey and Faron are at the palace; Silvey in the building and Faron in the gardens. The other three are along the route with Massart almost back at the garrison, Lalley at the main palace gates and Maline mid-route."

"That's right."

"If they're where they're supposed to be, I wait for you at the palace. If they've disappeared, the six musketeers closest to the garrison are to go searching for them whilst I ride back to meet you."

"Exactly, we just have to hope there aren't any other external parties involved that, as yet, we know nothing about," Athos said.

"Either that or some Red Guards that Richelieu has given some sinister orders to," Porthos added.

"I hope not," Athos added. "I keep thinking about what the Cardinal might hope to gain if this visit goes wrong but I just cannot see anything."

"You just haven't got an evil mind like the Cardinal," Porthos observed with a grin.

"Perhaps," Athos said with a hint of a smile. "Take care of yourself. I trust I'll see you at the palace and not before."

"Hope so," and Porthos gave him the merest of salutes in acknowledgement as he pulled his horse's head round and rode back up the line, deliberately averting his eyes as he passed by the scowling faces of Delacroix, Bertram and Garris.


	13. Chapter 13

_**Greetings. Thank you to all those of you who have been viewing the story and lovely to hear from those who have reviewed/contacted. Not going to say much this time except that I hope you enjoy it!**_

_**Profuse apologies - thought I'd uploaded this yesterday and must have done something wrong. Will put up another chapter later in the day as a result.**_

CHAPTER 13

It transpired that it was something of an anti-climax; nothing untoward occurred during the Austrian dignitary's visit and all Athos' arrangements went smoothly, his fears unfounded. When the musketeers returned from having escorted the man beyond the city limits and seen him on his way, the four friends gathered in the office at the garrison and celebrated with a well-earned brandy.

"Though I say so myself, that went very well," Aramis announced sipping appreciatively at the alcohol.

"I was on edge the whole time, expecting Delacroix to do something," d'Artagnan said. "I can't believe he hadn't got something else up his sleeve. That stunt with the mushrooms was really lucky."

"Perhaps he would have used something else or worse," Athos said darkly, "but you're right, it was somewhat fortuitous."

The group fell silent, enjoying and finishing their drinks. It had not gone unnoticed by Aramis, however, that Athos had collected the bottle from his room before going to the office and not retrieved it from the cupboard where Treville kept his. He studiously avoided using anything that did not belong to him.

Athos sat behind the desk, his thoughts obviously elsewhere and far from a celebratory mood as the other three watched him carefully, waiting until he was compelled to speak.

"I have a mission for you," he suddenly announced.

They knew instinctively what they were going to be asked to do; they had been waiting for it.

"Find Treville," he ordered, his voice flat and lacking the inspirational talk he had given the men the previous day. If only it were that simple! "Ride directly to the monastery and find out if he made it that far. If he did, back track from there to Paris. Be prepared to leave the main road for several miles each way; there are many villages and hamlets off the route to Paris. He could have been diverted." He broke off and the others exchanged knowing glances. What valid reason could there have been to take the Captain of the King's regiment and a group of musketeers from their direct route to the country's capital and detain them this long?

"And if he didn't make it as far as the monastery?"Aramis asked, his voice soft.

"Then you ride for Normandy, searching every mile, every house, every village, every clump of trees along the way," Athos fired back. "Seven men do not just disappear. They are trained soldiers under the leadership of an experienced warrior. They have to be somewhere; there has to be a trace of them." He stopped and ran a hand desperately through his hair, knowing full well that his outburst had been uncalled for. His eyes met those of the concerned men watching him.

"I'm sorry," his voice dropped as he went on. "We have wasted valuable time because of this wretched visit. Those men could be injured, in need of help and we – I have delayed too long but now we have to search, and we have to do it thoroughly. I have to know what happened; I cannot rest until I do and if …" his voice trailed off as he could not bring himself to put into words the possibility that Treville was dead. "If need be, there has to be justice."

"If he never got to the monastery, we'll need more men to go back to Normandy. We can split into different search groups and cover more ground quickly," d'Artagnan suggested.

"You're right," Athos conceded. "Forgive me, I was letting my feelings get the better of me."

"Now in some ways I might consider that as a first," quipped Porthos.

Athos raised an eyebrow in response but then grew serious again. "We have not yet considered the possibility that Treville got to Normandy as intended but that the Comte d'Arrentière was not as accommodating as first hoped. I said he should have taken more men or at least some with more battle experience but it serves no purpose to go over old ground. What's done is done. Now we have to find out what has happened."

"I have my own worries about this mission," Aramis put in, having been quietly listening. "If you send all three of us, we are leaving you unprotected. Anything might happen. We've just been talking about Delacroix taking advantage of opportunities and this would be playing straight into his hands."

"Then so be it," Athos concurred.

"What?" Aramis couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"I'm tired of waiting for him to make another move. I am ready for him."

"Like you were ready about the mushrooms?" Porthos demanded. "Admit it, you didn't see that one coming. How are you going to take care of yourself without us around? We were only at an inn down the street and we failed to keep you safe that time."

"No-one could have foreseen that," d'Artagnan pointed out reasonably, "but I agree with the others. We should not be leaving you without any protection. That was Treville's last order to us." He winced belatedly at his choice of words and hoped it had gone unnoticed but he was not so lucky. Porthos tutted, Aramis sighed and Athos flinched as if he had been hit. Treville's last order; the last before he left – or the last before he died. "I didn't mean …." but there was no taking it back and he lapsed into an embarrassed silence.

Athos took a deep breath. "Your arguments to me are similar to those I gave him! Perhaps I take after him in too many ways; neither of us is prepared to accept good advice." Or else, he thought to himself, we do not consider our own safety of primary concern. "I hear what you are saying and I thank you for it but the search for the Captain has to take precedence. You are the people I trust above all others; I know you will do a thorough search. If he is to be found, you are the ones to bring him back. I will make a concession to you. The monastery is a day and a half's ride from here; get there, ask your questions, go off route and back track. I will expect you back here in five days at the most. If you haven't found him then, we will increase the search area and the numbers looking."

The other men still looked reluctant.

"Yes I know something could still happen to me in five days but eating and sleeping in the garrison, with Serge to look out for me, I won't be making myself vulnerable with a trip to a tavern, I swear. I'll take men with me on my trips to the palace, none of them with any links to Delacroix. I won't engage in any training, will barricade my door at night when I'm asleep and will spend as much time as possible confined in here. Will that make you feel any better?"

"It's a start," d'Artagnan agreed.

"Make sure you do," Aramis insisted. "That doesn't give any leeway for unforeseen events."

"None whatsoever." Athos looked at them, his face pained as he came round the desk to join them and they moved as one to stand together. "I'm not ordering you," his voice faltered. "I'm asking you - no, begging you. Please find out what happened to Treville. There was something wrong about this right from the start and he knew it. I have to know otherwise I have failed him; I've let him down."

His despair was tangible and, instinctively, arms came up and the four joined in a group embrace of comfort and solidarity.

Before they broke apart, Aramis leaned close, his mouth close to Athos' ear as he whispered, "We will find him or at least find out what's happened to him, no matter how long it takes us. I promise."

...

After a speedy meal in the early afternoon, the gathering of supplies and collection of a change of clothes placed in saddle bags, the three were ready to depart, anxious to be on the road to reach the monastery by the following evening at the latest. Their other motivation was that the sooner they left, the sooner they would return for although they had agreed to seek out the missing group of men, they were still exceedingly uneasy about leaving Athos. Their distrust of Delacroix seemed to increase with each passing day and they feared that their absence from the garrison would afford Delacroix the opportunity of scheming and consequently exacting some sort of retribution on Athos, whatever his reason.

The four had said their goodbyes privately in the office and so the group descended to the waiting horses. Athos watched his friends mount up and moved forward to clasp each of their hands in turn once more.

"Stay safe," he instructed.

"And you," d'Artagnan ordered.

A sudden noise from the direction of the archway heralded the arrival of a boy in the palace colours. He was asking something of one of the men on guard duty who turned and pointed towards Athos. The boy approached warily, his eyes riveted on the big animals and the mounted men who towered above him.

"Captain?" he asked trembling at the proximity of the great beasts.

"Yes," and Athos accepted the missive held out to him. The boy was obviously not expected to wait for a reply as he took to his heels and ran from the yard. Athos broke open the unmistakable royal seal and gave the brief contents a cursory glance.

"It seems I have an urgent summons from the King," he volunteered.

Aramis grinned broadly, "Perhaps he is going to reward you handsomely for the fine arrangements you made for the Austrian visit."

"Mmmm," Athos answered, unconvinced. "I am not too sure that our illustrious King is well versed with the notion of handsome rewards."

Porthos laughed, "We can live in hope. Anyway, we ought to get going and you have an appointment with the King." He and d'Artagnan nodded their farewells and headed towards the archway whilst Aramis delayed, leaning down to impart a reminder.

"Don't forget about that accompanying guard detail as you go the palace," he instructed.

"I won't," Athos replied, giving the horse a gentle slap on the rear to get it moving. He watched and waited until all four had disappeared before he turned, smiling to himself at his brothers' affection and concern, and headed to the stable to ask for his horse to be saddled. As he re-crossed the yard, a musketeer appeared from the mess.

"Gilbert,"Athos called.

The man snapped to attention, "Sir?"

Athos almost laughed; he did not think he would ever get used to the reaction to his rank. "I am going to the palace in five minutes. I need you and Dorner to ride detail with me. Be ready please."

"Sir," and the man had gone at a run to seek out the other musketeer.

Less than fifteen minutes passed before Athos was being shown into a small but formal reception room where the King, Queen and Richelieu awaited him. Right leg extended and straight, he bowed low at the waist to the royal couple.

"I apologise, Sire, for keeping you waiting." The apology was a matter of etiquette; there was no physical way that Athos could have arrived any sooner.

As he straightened, he saw the serious demeanour of both King and Cardinal and he wondered what had happened since the Austrian dignitary's departure that morning to affect such a change. Whilst he was not as optimistic as Porthos about glowing personal praise for the arrangements surrounding the visit, he had hoped on the ride over that the summons might mean some recognition and thanks for how the musketeers had acquitted themselves. The expressions on the faces of the other two men suggested otherwise.

Whatever Athos had been expecting, it was certainly not what the King said next.

"The Cardinal and I have been in discussion since our guest left this morning. It concerns me that my Captain of the Guard has not returned from his latest mission and we must fear the worst."

Athos wanted to object, to explain that he had sent men that day to search for the missing group of soldiers but he kept his silence; it did not do well to interrupt the King.

"Therefore I must consider his replacement."

Heart thundering in his chest, Athos wondered if he was about to be offered the position on a permanent basis. Perhaps his arrangements for the foreign dignitary's visit had stood him in good stead.

"I have made my decision as to the new Captain of the King's Guard and you knew all along, of course, that this was only a temporary position for you. Therefore you will relinquish your command of the musketeers with immediate effect."


	14. Chapter 14

_**Okay, so whatever I did two days ago, I did again yesterday so I'll try to get it right and upload two chapters today! Meanwhile, in the story, things begin to unravel!**_

CHAPTER 14

Athos' mind was reeling at the pronouncement and he initially wondered if he had heard correctly.

"I apologise, Sire," he heard himself repeating. "Have I failed in some way over the past three weeks or caused offence to your Majesty? Was there anything amiss in my arrangements for the visit by the Austrian dignitary?"

Louis refused to look directly at him as he hesitated before answering. "Well, no, but certain things have come to light of late that does question your suitability to hold the position on a more lasting basis."

"What sort of things?" Athos asked, his voice tight with suppressed anger.

"You dare to question His Majesty?" Richelieu challenged, his eyes narrowing and brow furrowing.

"I merely wanted the opportunity to defend myself, Cardinal, if need be. I meant no disrespect to His Majesty but I am perplexed when my initial recommendation by Captain Treville was accepted with little problem. I also want to register my concern at this apparent haste in securing a replacement. Anything could have happened to the Captain and his party and it could be easily explained. I have dispatched men today to commence a search and ask that they be given ample time to explore the possibilities. I would readily stand aside if my command displeases Your Majesty; all I ask is that a premature decision is not made final." Athos spoke in quiet, measured tones; a stark contrast to the warring emotions he was going through inside.

"Monsieur Athos speaks with reason, Sire," Queen Anne spoke up in his defence and he shot her a look of gratitude. "We must not forget that it is not so long ago that this man was prepared to lay down his life for me when he and one of his colleagues fought hard to protect me."

Her compassion and intervention, both unexpected, flustered and embarrassed the monarch when he was reminded of the incident that saw his Queen targeted by assassins. Although he was oblivious to all the details, the Queen and the musketeer both knew of the Cardinal's involvement in the plot.

"You should not trouble yourself with business affairs, my dear, especially at this time." The King was making a pointed reference to the Queen's state of health and, in a gesture of protection, she laid her hand upon the distinct swelling that suggested to observers she was over six months into her pregnancy. Having already miscarried an heir to the French throne, every care was being taken to safeguard her from any stress but to all intents and purposes, this time she appeared to be in the very best of health, taking impending motherhood in her stride.

Her jaw tightened as she struggled to think of a suitable riposte and Athos found himself silently begging her to remain silent. She had spoken up for him but he did not want it pursued any further in case it led to a manipulative comment by the Cardinal that would suggest that her long-awaited child was potentially the result of an indiscretion with a musketeer. Athos knew that he, Aramis and the Queen herself had come too far for the infidelity to be disclosed now.

"We are obviously appreciative of all that Monsieur Athos has done in recent weeks but it is now time for someone reliable to take up the more permanent mantle," the King announced, exchanging a knowing glance with the Cardinal.

"How am I unreliable?" Athos directed his question to Richelieu, knowing that the First Minister had to be behind any change of mind on the part of the King. Treville was no longer around to give the voice of reason.

Richelieu pulled himself up to his full height and stepped towards Athos intending to intimidate him but the slender, six foot musketeer held his ground, his face an enigmatic mask.

"Do you really want me to spell it out for you?" Richelieu almost spat the words. "I have already apprised His Majesty of your unsuitability through your sordid past. Do we really have to go through it all again?"

"As I said, I would like the opportunity to defend myself." Somehow, Athos remained calm.

"How can you defend yourself about your frequent drunkenness? My men have seen you, often incapable of standing upright and having to be helped home by your friends; when you are not too far gone, you launch unprovoked attacks on members of the Red Guard. I have lost count of the number of my men you have injured whilst in this state and Treville covers for you, making excuses for your unacceptable behaviour. I do not understand how you manage to function appropriately in your duties the next day."

"I have never shirked from fulfilling my duties," Athos interrupted, intent upon defending himself to some extent, "and since assuming the role of Captain, I have not been drunk at all. I admit I may have engaged in brawls with your men in the past but you speak of it erroneously as though it were a nightly occurrence and you fail to mention the unprovoked attacks on us instigated by your men, such is the animosity between the two regiments."

"That makes it acceptable then?" Richelieu said contemptuously. "And were you not drunk when you took a woman hostage in the street, threatening her very life and then shooting and wounding one of your own friends who attempted to intercede on her behalf? As a musketeer, are you not expected to uphold the law, to be an example to the citizens of this city and to protect them? I hardly think you are supposed to initiate the lawlessness on its streets and inspire fear in its people. Then there was the fiasco of more discharged weapons with the same musketeer, d'Artagnan, when you feigned death. Yes, I heard all about your mock funeral. Very amusing. Sanctioned by Treville again, I believe. And its purpose? No doubt something else to do with the lady, your wife. "

"You would know, you had her working for you," Athos retorted. The two men were on dangerous ground here and care needed to be taken that vitriolic words were not said in haste that would implicate the Queen.

"I have many people working for me, Your Majesty," Richelieu explained, turning to the monarch. "I have to have my informants to enable me to be an effective First Minister with the safety of your good self and France at heart."

"Of course, of course, dear Cardinal. I quite understand." Louis smiled warmly at his advisor and then looked at the musketeer, any pleasure fading from his face. "What a chequered past you seem to have led, Monsieur Athos."

"That is only a part of it, Your Majesty," Richelieu added, speaking to his King but looking directly at Athos. "However, I would not wish to take up any more of your valuable time by listing many more reasons as to why this man is unfit to command a regiment."

"Quite right, I have heard more than enough, especially as you have already informed me at length of the near disaster we have had with the dignitary's visit. Half a regiment down with food poisoning? Thank heavens we did not suddenly find ourselves at war! A King needs an army ready to fight for him, not one that's taken to its bed. You should be in a constant state of readiness. At least Treville usually managed that. I have never heard the like."

"It was an act of sabotage, Your Majesty," Athos tried to explain. "Foodstuffs were replaced with others that were harmful."

"Rubbish," Richelieu said derisively. "You make excuses for an old man who should have been shown the door years ago, another example of Treville's sentimentality. Why else would he retain the services of an old soldier past his usefulness?"

"That _old man _has a name, Cardinal. Serge was a faithful musketeer for many years and then became the cook for the regiment. There has never been any question of his effectiveness or ability to do the job," Athos was struggling to keep his temper.

"Until now," Richlieu retaliated, "and not just any old day either. It was the day before an important visit when he chose to be incompetent and cooked a meal laced with poisonous mushrooms."

"You seem to know a lot about it, Cardinal," Athos said slowly, his voice low and his words leaving no room for doubt that he suspected the minister of some involvement.

"Of course I do. It is my job to make sure I know what is going on when His Majesty's safety is at stake. Besides, I was kept up to date with events."

"From another informant, no doubt," Athos was scathing.

"Naturally and no ordinary informant either. It was none other than your confirmed replacement. This is, perhaps, the perfect moment for you to meet." The Cardinal moved towards a door and grasped the handle. "You will, of course, need no further introductions."

In one fluid movement, he pulled open the door to reveal the new Captain of the King's Regiment. Athos stared, not even realising that he was holding his breath as in walked Delacroix.


	15. Chapter 15

_**Okay, as promised, a second chapter today. Let's see if I can do it right. I'm sorry to be worrying some of you with the way things are shaping up and it's not going to get any better here!**_

CHAPTER 15

Athos could not really recall what happened next. The first his mind was clear was when he found himself waiting at the bottom of the main stairs in the marble floored entrance hall. At some point, Delacroix had been introduced to the monarch, smiled fawningly and bent low. Athos had summarily been dismissed, the final comment coming from Delacroix who advised him to remove any of his belongings from the office before the new Captain returned from the palace.

Simmering with rage, Athos paced the length and breadth of the entrance hall, not sure what he intended doing or saying nor to whom. Richelieu was the first to descend and, when Athos suddenly stepped into his path, the man looked visibly disturbed, concerned that none of the Red Guard were in the vicinity.

"Don't worry, Cardinal," Athos began, correctly interpreting the unease, "I am not going to hurt you. Just what else do you know about me?"

Richelieu quickly recovered his composure and pulled his cloak around him. "I know you are the Comte de la Fère, that you attempted to murder your wife for she still bears the mark of the hangman's noose and that she has now disappeared. Have you finished the task?"

The man was so ruthless and matter of fact that Athos was momentarily speechless. "Absolutely not. She was alive the last time I saw her and told her to leave Paris."

"Of course, I only have your word for that…" Richelieu began.

"That is the truth, on my honour," Athos interrupted. Richelieu laughed.

"You speak of honour? You, who gave the order for your wife's death? You, who have turned your back on a centuries old aristocratic family, abandoned the people on your estates and reneged on other responsibilities in order to hide behind the leather and pauldron of a musketeer? You speak of honour? I see no honour in your behaviour."

"I had my reasons."

"Do share," the Cardinal sneered.

"There are some things a man would prefer to keep private," Athos stated, uncomfortable at the prospect of being expected to explain himself about things that were so painfully personal.

"Do you mean the fact that your loving wife stabbed your younger brother to death?" Richelieu asked as if it were an everyday occurrence.

Athos was shaken to the core. "Yes," he admitted quietly.

"Oh, I knew that. My sources made me aware and then she told me herself. I didn't just employ her as an informant; I knew I could use her as an assassin if need be." He looked at Athos' stricken face. "So you're telling me that you let her go."

Athos merely nodded.

"And why was that, I wonder? You suddenly discover that she is alive after all those years and you could have put an end to her. You knew what she was doing and yet you let her go. Why would you do that?" The Cardinal scrutinised the musketeer's face for a few moments and then he laughed and clapped his hands gleefully as if he had just realised something. "Oh my, you still love her, don't you? Now let me see, tragedy is the downfall of a man because of a flaw in his character and you have a huge flaw, don't you? Her. She will be the cause of your downfall unless, of course, I bring it about first."

Again Richelieu moved closer, "You really don't like me, do you? I remember well your words to me after the audience with the King when the Queen had been restored to him. You revealed your hand that day; you knew your wife was working for me. That was an impressive veiled threat you made, by the way." He paused and his features hardened. "No-one threatens me and gets away with it."

"Thanks for the warning, Cardinal. I shall remember that," Athos said, his eyes equally cold as he prepared to ask the question that was uppermost in his mind. "You don't happen to have any idea about what happened to Treville, do you?"

Richelieu laughed aloud, "Definitely not! Anyway, would you seriously expect me to answer that with anything other than a flat denial?"

"No, Cardinal, I just wanted to see your reaction and just in case you have not yet realised, I am revealing my hand again. To speak plainly, I do suspect that you know more than you are saying and I will prove it."

Richelieu looked around him briefly as if to make sure that no one was in the vicinity that could hear what he was about to say; even so, his voice was low, malevolent. "Am I supposed to be frightened by that, musketeer? Who are you? I just see one man; a drunk, troubled man who is given to flights of fancy. Who is going to listen to you? Today you have been stripped of any credibility and authority. You find yourself without the ear of the King, minus your precious Captain and separated from your friends." He punctuated his angry words by jabbing Athos in the chest with his forefinger. "You dare to stand there and threaten me when you do not have a shred of evidence."

Athos' hand shot out and caught the Cardinal's wrist, the tightness of his grip causing the older man to wince. "Let me just say that I may not have the proof yet but I will find it. I commend your manipulation of events as you obviously consider us a group to be reckoned with after your scheme against the Queen was discovered. You have removed first the Captain from his position and then me so that you can put your own man in place. Congratulations!" Richelieu struggled to free his hand but Athos held him tighter and pulled him closer so that their faces were inches apart. "Do I think that Treville is dead? No, not yet; I think it serves no purpose to you at the moment. However, do I think that the destruction of the five of us is part of your plan ultimately to safeguard your own skin? Most definitely. So now we know what the other is thinking, we can stop worrying and just get on with our business. You know that I am searching for Treville and any firm evidence that will bring you down and you, well, you are just to go about your nefarious plots as always."

He suddenly released his hold and pushed the older man away from him, Richelieu stumbling backwards a couple of paces with the force.

"I could have you locked up in the chatelet for daring to lay a finger on me," Richelieu hissed as he rubbed at his wrist.

"You could," Athos shrugged nonchalantly, "except that you have taken great pains to ensure that this exchange has not been witnessed by anyone." He looked around theatrically. "I see no Red Guards. Besides, Cardinal, I suspect that as much as you like to keep your friends close to you, you would prefer to have your enemies closer still so that you can try to see what they are doing. I fully intend for you to see me as an enemy. Good day to you."

Before Richelieu could react, Athos had dipped his head in a semi-formal bow and gone.

He was still standing there, mouth open at what had transpired, when Delacroix appeared at his side moments later.

"I can easily take care of him for you, Cardinal," he offered, desperate to ingratiate himself further with the man considered the most powerful in France.

Richelieu seemed to come awake and see the new Captain of the King's Guard. "Did you overhear us?" he asked, his composure restored.

"Yes," Delacroix answered innocently. Suddenly, he found himself slammed against the wall, fingers tight at his throat. His eyes bulged.

"If you want to enjoy your role as Captain of the King's Musketeers, I strongly advise that you never eavesdrop on one of my conversations again unless I give you an instruction to do so first. Do you understand me?"

Delacroix nodded and he was just as swiftly released. Coughing, he rubbed at his sore throat and straightened his doublet as Richelieu paced the floor.

He stopped abruptly. "Tell me how you propose to take care of the musketeer Athos."

Put on the spot, Delacroix had to be creative. "I have those I can trust. I can instruct them that he meets his end in a darkened alleyway, throat slit." He watched eagerly for the Cardinal's approval.

Richelieu laughed a cruel, humourless laugh. "You stupid little man, you have no idea. Do you think it would really be as easy as that? I do not want him dead, not yet anyway."

Delacroix frowned, hurt by the Cardinal's insult and not really understanding why he wanted Athos left alive. He thought the plan was to dispose of the _Inseparables_ and the musketeers' captain as quickly as possible but now things seemed to be changing and he was not sure why.

"You cannot believe that you have been granted this position on your own merits. You have none. You are only where you are and what you are because of me," Richelieu continued. "I made you and I will give you instructions; do not presume otherwise. You can make his life hell if you must, but he is not to die." Richelieu looked out of the nearest window to see the distant figure of Athos striding through the gardens. "Do you not realise that that man has more ability and presence in his little finger than you will ever have in a life time? If I had him working for me, there would be no limit to what I could achieve. What a waste but I know the man is not for turning. He is too full of his damnable honour," Richelieu turned and looked at Delacroix with disdain, "unlike some. Until tomorrow, Captain."

Even the way he said the rank was filled with contempt and Delacroix was left wondering about the situation in which he found himself. He had been deliriously happy at the prospect of replacing Athos, that the man was to be removed from command and taken down a peg or two as a result. To Delacroix, it was justice and he was both humbled and gratified to receive the Cardinal's patronage. However, now it seemed that the Cardinal did not consider him capable of independent thought or decisions. Well he would show the Cardinal just how wrong he could be.

What made it worse was how the First Minister had spoken of the other musketeer; it had almost been as if he admired him and he certainly thought him more capable than Delacroix. The new Captain of the musketeers clenched his fists in growing bitterness. He was not to kill Athos but the invitation had been clear to make his life hell, so that was exactly what he would do and he would start as soon as he arrived back at the garrison. Athos would rue the day that he had been born!


	16. Chapter 16

_**Thank you so much for all the reviews and lovely comments. As you can probably tell by now, things are not going to get any better sometime soon, especially for Athos. I promise we'll be back with the other boys soon on their quest for Treville but that'll be Chapter 18.**_

CHAPTER 16

By the time Athos reached the garrison, his temper had not abated and the men who greeted him were met with a curt response at best; some were totally ignored as he strode past them, oblivious to the words that died on their lips and the smiles that froze on their faces. As they exchanged bemused glances and quizzical shrugs, they were in agreement on one thing - something momentous had happened and it was not positive.

When the visit had concluded, their Captain had rewarded them with one of his rare smiles, his praise of the men all-encompassing and heartfelt. With the nightmare of two evenings before still too fresh in their minds, he had given orders to Serge to prepare a meal that exceeded the day's budget, included some sweet treats and stretched the daily alcohol allowance. The men deserved his thanks and this was the most obvious way to make that possible; he would worry about making the books balance another day.

Now, as the office door slammed shut, he threw his hat across the desk and yanked at the cord of his cloak, pulling the knot tighter so that it would not undo. Cursing loudly, his face contorted in concentration as he struggled to ease the knot and divest himself of the cumbersome cloak. That done, he tossed it untidily across the cot, removed his weapons belts and slumped into the chair behind the desk. Seizing one of the discarded glasses from earlier, he poured himself a large brandy and downed it in one, grimacing as the fiery liquid slid down his throat. He raised the bottle with the intention of refilling the glass when he caught sight of his hand trembling.

How could the fortunes of a day change so swiftly? It had begun with the second part of the Austrian visit, the demands of the morning unfolding without problem. The mood in the garrison after the worries of the previous days had been buoyant, jubilant even amongst the men and he had felt an overwhelming sense of relief. His resolve to send his friends after Treville had done much to ease his conscience, angry as he was with himself for the enforced delay. Had he been able, he would have bidden a hasty farewell to the Austrian and carried on riding, leading the search himself and determined not to return to the garrison until he had his answers. It had been galling to give the others the instruction to ride off without him but that was the role of the captain, to command others to go in his stead and remain at the base, orchestrating the mundane and the routine, trying to remain occupied until the men returned and made their report.

Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan had not even been gone three hours and he had managed to lose his command and told Richelieu that he, Athos, was to be considered his enemy! What on earth had he been thinking? Had he got some kind of death wish? He had promised the others that he would take precautions to safeguard himself, not go out of his way to court confrontation and, as a consequence, danger. To make matters worse, Delacroix was now the garrison commander! The next few days, at least, were going to be interesting and he knew he would have to avoid drawing attention to himself.

He moved around the room, checking for anything he might have introduced to the office over the time that it had been his main workplace and laying the few items, including the brandy bottle, on the coverlet of the cot. He smoothed the rumpled fabric and hoped that Delacroix would not be so presumptuous as to make it his own immediately and, not for the first time, he found himself asserting in his mind that Treville would return with the others in a matter of days. The alternative was unthinkable.

Then, having briefly updated the log book with an entry for that day, he laid it open on the desk in front of the chair and straightened the quill pens by the ink well. He set the papers that made up the budget to one side and allowed himself a smile; Delacroix would now be responsible for sorting out the payment for the evening's meal that was slightly extravagant by garrison standards. This meal, Athos decided, was his farewell thanks to the men for their support, not just for the past few days, but for the two weeks prior to that and to wish them a silent good luck; they were probably going to need it!

He opened the desk's top drawer and lifted out the heavy bunch of keys, preparing to leave them on the desk as well. As he held them, he thought back to Treville's instruction that he identify the locks for each and every key. Over the first days in his new role, he had taken the keys whenever he had done the rounds of the watch, trying them at a multitude of doors, chests and cupboards, retracing his steps to remind himself of some of them on subsequent days. He had successfully identified all bar three which were totally dissimilar in size and shape and had concluded that the locks were definitely not within the confines of the garrison.

An outbreak of raised voices in the yard below drew him out onto the balcony to identify the source. Delacroix had returned and announced to his friends the confirmation of his good fortune and promotion and they were noisily voicing their pleasure. No doubt they were expecting to benefit in some way from his new-found authority.

Swiftly, Athos removed the three keys from the large ring and dropped them into the inside pocket of his doublet, already harbouring ideas as to where he would search next for the requisite locks. He was in the process of laying the rest of the keys on the desktop when the door opened and Delacroix walked in.

"I thought you would have been out of here by now," he said, a little too imperiously. So he was already exerting his power.

"Do not worry, I'm leaving now," Athos replied, picking up the items he had placed on the cot. He indicated the desk with a tilt of the head. "I've left the garrison keys there along with the log, the next supply order and the budget. They're the most important for today. If anything is unclear, you only have to ask."

"Oh I doubt if I shall need to do that. It must be fairly straightforward; after all, you and Treville appear to have managed."

Athos swallowed hard, refusing to succumb to the insult or to be drawn into an argument. Instead, he attempted the suggestion of a gracious smile and hoped that it did not resemble a grimace. "Still, the offer remains should you change your mind."

"Thank you." Delacroix waited until Athos was in the doorway before speaking again. "You will be seeking some employment this afternoon so I have just the job for you. I need a full inventory taken of the armoury."

Athos turned back. "That was done last week. The updated inventory is on the bottom shelf behind you and you'll find that ….."

His sentence went unfinished for Delacroix had already found the relevant document and held it up before tearing it into pieces. "Oh dear, it seems to have been mislaid and it would not do for a garrison not to have such an important record to hand. You never know when it might have to call upon its resources at a moment's notice. Of course, I blame my predecessor; such incompetence! Still, it's just as well that I am now in command; I can get the place in order and run it as it should be run. I want that inventory completed and on this desk before you retire for the night."

"What?" Athos asked incredulously. "That took nearly a day last week and there were two men working on it for part of the time."

"Then you had better not waste any more. Accompany our former captain to the armoury," he ordered Bertram and Garris who had arrived and lounged in the open doorway. "I would hate to think that he might have forgotten how to do the more ordinary tasks."

Before Athos could make any further objection, he was flanked by the two musketeers who immediately escorted him from the office and led him to the armoury. He stopped outside the door, his hands full of the few items he had brought with him from the office and waited, wondering if they would take the hint and open the door for him. It was Bertram who, with a theatrical sigh, opened it and stood to one side so that he could enter.

"Last time we do anything for you. In future, you do things on your own," snarled Garris.

Athos moved into the armoury and viewed the plethora of weaponry ranged against walls, on racks and in wooden boxes. "So much for all for one," he quipped and settled his few possessions on a table top. He slipped out of his doublet, rolled up his shirt sleeves and found paper, pen and ink stored in a drawer in the table. "The sooner I start, the sooner I finish," he muttered to himself and began with a line of muskets.

It was six hours later that Serge entered and set a tray of food down on the table. He perched on a creaking wooden stool and watched as Athos, seated on the floor with his legs stretched out in front of him, finished counting the contents of a box containing fuses. He wrote down a number.

"So it's true then?" Serge broke the silence.

Athos looked up at the old man and smiled, "If you are asking whether I have been demoted then yes, it's true."

'T'aint right," Serge muttered by way of a response. "They shouldn't be saying what they're doin' about Cap'n Treville neither." He passed a trencher of bread and cold meat to Athos who began to pick at the food.

"And what's that exactly?"

"That Treville's dead and that we're stuck with Delacroix permanent like."

"Richelieu has persuaded the King that the Captain will not be returning, I am totally unsuitable for the task and therefore Delacroix has been officially hailed as the permanent replacement. There, Serge, you know about as much as I do now."

"Still ain't right," the old man objected.

"No I suppose not but that's the way things are going to be from now on."

"We still don't have to like it and there's many of 'em in the mess that ain't happy with the way things are goin' on. They don't like Delacroix and they want you back."

"I am flattered but to the King and Cardinal I am too much of a liability, hence my replacement," Athos explained. "It'll only be until Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan return with Captain Treville."

"You still believe he's alive then?" Serge asked, his eyes full of hope as he studied the young man.

"Yes I do," Athos replied, his voice barely audible, "for I dare not think otherwise. I certainly fear for the future of the musketeers with Delacroix at the helm and the Cardinal setting the agenda."

"Well that makes two of us," Serge stated. He paused. "Are you alright about this?" he inquired at last.

Athos thought for a moment. "Yes, I'm alright," he reassured the old man as he bit into some bread. "You really don't have to keep doing this, you know, especially now," and he indicated the food tray.

"I swore to those friends of yours that I'd look out for you and I ain't goin' back on my word. Cap'n or not makes no difference to me. They've up an' ridden off, probably on your orders, an' I can guess where an' why so while they're gone, you'll not mind me keepin' to what I promised."

"Thank you,"Athos said softly, moved by the old man's fierce loyalty and commitment. He laid some cold beef across a piece of bread and bit into it, a thought suddenly occurring to him. "I suppose I was too late for the special dinner, hence the leftovers. Did the men appreciate your efforts?"

Serge pulled a face. "They didn't get no special dinner."

Athos frowned, "What do you mean? What happened?"

The old cook was angry. "Delacroix went and cancelled it. I was preparin' it when he comes into the kitchen and wants to know what I'm about so I tells 'im an' he says he's havin' none of it. Plain an' simple fare, 'e says. The men 'ave got to earn their treats, 'e says. I told 'im you said they'd earned it an' 'e comes back with not on his watch."

"So he has refused the men a celebratory meal because the command changed between the order and the result?" Athos was incredulous at the man's insensitivity. "How does he expect to have the men's respect when he makes a decision like that? Punish me somehow if that's what he wants to do but he shouldn't take it out on the men. So it was an ordinary meal after all?"

"No. It was the same as you have there. Can't get much more plain and simple than that," Serge said disgustedly.

Athos looked at the food in front of him in horror. "So they had no proper cooked meal at the end of a long day?" Serge shook his head. "Just out of curiosity, what did our new Captain have for his dinner?"

"You need to ask? He had the menu you'd ordered for the men. Made sure him an' his so-called friends 'ad a feast. That didn't go down well with some, I can tell you." The old man exuded an air of innocence but there was a hint of mischief in his eyes that the younger man detected.

"Serge," Athos began carefully, "did you happen to tell anyone about the Delacroix' meal?"

The cook pretended to be put out by the question, his arms folded across his chest. "I might've let it slip to them as wanted to know."

"And who might they have been?"

"All them 'as 'ad to make do with the bread and cold meat."

Athos tried to hide his amusement – and failed. "Serge, are you deliberately trying to cause dissension in the ranks?"

"I know nothin' about them long words; I'm a man for plain speakin' myself."

Athos eyed him sceptically, a smile playing about his features. "How many stayed in the garrison to eat then?"

"Not many. Most went off site to eat unless they were on duty or they were short on funds; they don't get paid for another day or two so they had to make do with the bread and cold meat. A lot of 'em would have been hungry after how busy everyone's been so they weren't 'appy about it."

"Understandable, so they were forced to go out and pay for food rather than do it from choice." Athos was thinking out loud rather than seeking a response from the cook, weighing up the possible implications of what he had just heard.

Funds at times within the garrison were limited. The King's Regiment they might be but the King's coffers were not bottomless and Louis was known to expect a lot for his investment and patronage. The men were not highly paid so Treville had always put great importance on at least feeding his soldiers well in order to maintain health and stamina. At least one hot meal was the order of the day with meat, bread and vegetables being staple ingredients of their diet. Whilst it might have been in short supply for some of the lower classes in Paris, the musketeers had to be well fed to fulfil their duties, training regimen and to be ready to respond in times of crisis. No man should ever be in the position where he went to bed hungry and on this night that was a distinct possibility.

Athos did not intend to go looking for trouble - he had promised the others - but the situation had changed dramatically over the past few hours. He may no longer be the captain of the King's regiment but he was not afraid to speak his mind, especially when he thought there was any injustice being borne by his fellow musketeers.

Despite working hard, the inventory would not be complete until the early hours of the morning and as he was not to retire until he had submitted it, he wondered if Delacroix would still be awake himself. If that proved to be the case, then he felt it incumbent upon himself to speak up on behalf of his brothers.

It promised to be a very interesting exchange.


	17. Chapter 17

**_Many, many thanks for the feedback over the past twenty-four hours; I really do appreciate it. I could say lots here but would prefer to let this chapter speak for itself. I hope you enjoy it. (Now I'm about to struggle with the next chapter which isn't co-operating one little bit!)_**

Chapter 17

A nearby church bell had struck two in the morning when Athos left the armoury. Tucking the inventory under an arm, he locked the door behind him and blew out the lantern, the moon affording him enough light to see his way around the garrison. He yawned and rubbed at the tired eyes he had been straining for several hours since darkness fell. There was an obvious reason as to why routine work in the armoury was usually undertaken only in the daylight hours; naked candle flame amongst ammunition and gun powder was not a recommended combination. Even the one lantern he had allowed himself could have been knocked over in a moment of carelessness or by accident.

As he approached the office, he could see pale candlelight emerging from beneath the door and the sounds of someone moving around within.

He knocked on the door and waited; the movement stopped suddenly but there was no response so he knocked again. There was no invitation to enter but instead, footsteps approached the door from the other side and partially opened it. Delacroix stood in the gap, obviously wanting to conceal the room.

"What do you want?" he demanded brusquely, obviously not expecting anyone to come to the office at this hour and certainly not wanting it to be this particular musketeer.

Athos held out the inventory. "You wished for this to be completed before I retired for the night. I have done as you ordered."

Delacroix almost snatched it from his hand without saying anything and was about to shut the door when Athos blocked it with his foot. "What do you think you're doing?" the Captain demanded. Was that a flicker of alarm that crossed his face?

"I needed to speak with you," Athos explained. Half a head taller than Delacroix, Athos could see past him into the room beyond, the room that he and Treville had kept immaculately tidy. Now it was anything but ordered. The document cupboard doors were wide open, its contents strewn over the desk top and sliding onto the floor. He frowned. "Are you looking for something in particular?"

"What?" Delacroix was evidently distracted by his unexpected arrival. "No, I was … I was looking through the available documents and reading about the short history of the regiment. Interesting stuff. I was just about to clear up before I went to bed. It is very late so unless it is an emergency, I will wait to hear what you have to say until after the morning muster. Thank you and goodnight."

This time, Athos withdrew his foot. He looked at the closed door briefly and then turned to head for the stairs. He did not believe a word of what Delacroix had said. He was looking for something specific and had torn the place apart in his search.

Athos entered his room, lit a candle and felt the exhaustion wash over him. Laying his doublet over a chair, he yanked off his boots and settled down on the bed, pulling the blanket over himself for it would not be too many hours before he would have to stir again. Tired as he was, his mind was too active to let sleep come and he wracked his brain to identify what it was that Delacroix sought. He had been in that office for long enough over the previous weeks to locate all that he needed to fulfil his role.

In his few less busy moments or late in the evening, he had explored some of the older documents out of a sense of fascination, reminding himself of the details surrounding past missions in which he had been involved and familiarising himself with additional facts concerning some of the darker moments of the regiment's past such as the engagement at La Rochelle. Although never consciously looking for anything more questionable or damning, he had not discovered anything that might explain Delacroix' clandestine search amongst Treville's documents.

Suddenly Athos sat bolt upright as it all made sense. Delacroix was looking for something Treville had written, potentially something of great importance. It was highly unlikely to be pertinent to Delacroix himself who had, hitherto, been a lowly musketeer – the only person who stood to gain anything would be Richelieu. With events manipulated so that Delacroix was now in command, the Cardinal had a means vicariously to go through any or all of Treville's paperwork and there could only be one reason as to why he would want that opportunity. He believed Treville had evidence that could topple him from his position of authority and power. The latest incident with the Queen would be enough on its own to bring him down but supposing Treville had amassed even more incriminatory information? Or at least material that Richelieu suspected he had garnered? The two men had known each other for years having worked in close proximity, and Athos knew how much Treville disliked the Cardinal and was suspicious of both his motives and actions.

If Treville had that vital evidence, he would be unlikely to leave it in the office, although one might presume that it was safe enough in a busy garrison with lots of movement and the duty watch. It was probably secreted somewhere else and Athos was reminded again of the keys he had in his possession. He had to find the relevant locks, although he did have an idea as to where to start. Now, at long last, things made sense.

Richlieu was, undeniably, the most powerful man in France as its First Minister and some would go so far as to argue that he wielded more power than the King himself, able as he was to bend the monarch's will to his own on more than one occasion. If he saw anyone as a threat to that position, he would stop at nothing to safeguard that role so even someone as important as the Captain of the King's Musketeers would not be immune from danger. Months had passed since Treville and the _Inseparables _had foiled Richelieu's plot against the Queen and listened to his explanation that it had been to safeguard the future of France. Richelieu had pointedly informed Athos within the past twenty-four hours that no-one could threaten him and get away with it and Athos had no reason to doubt that claim. Richelieu was not a man to take action in haste; he would bide his time and it was feasible that, several months on, he judged that time to have arrived. With the five Musketeers removed, that knowledge would, in effect, die with them, successfully isolating the Queen who would have neither the proof nor the support to act against the Minister.

Athos sank back against his pillow. Treville must have realised that they were all on borrowed time and, when the King sent him to Normandy on a mission that was not usually within the remit of the Captain, he had perceived Richelieu's hand in it, especially with the detour to the monastery added. He had been alerted to the threat and acted accordingly. He had left Athos in command of the garrison with the means to find the evidence that would signal the end of the Cardinal's stranglehold on French politics.

Athos berated himself. How could he have been so stupid in not appreciating the significance of the keys? Hadn't Treville ordered him to identify all the locks? He had started that search and eliminated all the locks within the garrison so why had he not pursued the hunt? There had been time enough before the dignitary's visit but at that stage Treville had not been overdue so how was he to have known? Then the visit and its attendant arrangements had been all consuming. He could not afford to waste any more time. He wondered what duty he would be assigned when morning came for he needed to go to Treville's house; that was the place to resume his search.

He continued to lay there for some time as sleep persistently evaded him, his thoughts churning over in his mind. He recalled the discussion in the office on the morning of the Captain's departure. Had there been anything else that he had missed? Had Treville been giving him veiled information? Why had the man not spoken more directly to him? Had he feared they would be overheard? Did Treville worry that he was the victim of an overactive imagination and therefore would not be so forthcoming in case what he anticipated failed to materialise?

He had thought very carefully about everything else though, even down to the men that would accompany him. Athos went through their names in his head, visualising each of the men and contemplating their skills and weaknesses for the mission.

"No!" The word was emitted as a low and agonised groan when further realisation hit him. Had he and his three brothers accompanied Treville, the five men most dangerous to Cardinal Richelieu would have all been together in one place and easy prey to those who wanted to destroy them. With their prowess and expertise as soldiers, they could have put up a strong fight against their assailants but it was highly unlikely that they would all have emerged unscathed and Athos was certain that a sizeable force would have been sent against them to ensure a total victory. Treville had foreseen this and made his decision; he had protected his _Inseparables _so that they could seek revenge and live to continue the fight to bring about Richelieu's downfall.

Treville had faced the most dreadful choice of any commander, namely to select the men who would go with him on a mission that was tantamount to suicide and he had deliberately chosen those with minimal experience, hopefully leaving the regiment at its strongest.

Athos sat up again, arms hugging his knees as he rocked, eyes screwed shut to the threatening tears and teeth clenched to prevent an anguished cry escaping him at the prospect of the selfless sacrifice of his commander. He steadfastly refused to believe that Treville was dead though.

Several minutes passed as he composed himself. At length, he sniffed loudly and swiped at his eyes with the heel of his palm, breathing deeply to slow his rapidly beating heart. He swung his legs round, placed his feet on the floor and sat, head bowed, on the edge of the bed whilst he determined his next move.

Resolved, he pulled on his boots and slipped on his doublet, feeling for the keys in his inside pocket. If sleep was intent on eluding him, he would put the time to good use. Extinguishing the candle, he left his room and silently pulled the door closed behind him before making his way out into the moonlit yard towards the garrison exit. He knew two men would be on watch there, ready to challenge anyone who moved at this late hour but it was usually musketeers returning after an evening's carousing, rather than anyone leaving the garrison. However, his story was planned. He could not sleep – which was true – and was going for a walk to tire his body and mind; no-one could deny that the day's events and the loss of command would dramatically unsettle him.

He strode towards the archway, recognising the two on guard as Girard and Warenne. They straightened up at his approach, their faces grim and he was mindful that many of the men did not know what to say to him at the unexpected change of command. Determined to put them at their ease, he nodded a greeting but had taken no more than another two steps when, out of the shadows, three figures emerged and blocked his way: Silvey, Faron and Massart.

"Going somewhere?" Silvey demanded.


	18. Chapter 18

_**Hi, thank you to those who have been in touch since the last chapter yesterday and for your encouragement. This chapter is a little short but it is needed for the timeline of the story. However, I'll be making up for that tomorrow when we at last catch up with the trio searching for Treville.**_

CHAPTER 18

Athos stood to attention in the office; head up, shoulders back and eyes staring straight ahead so that he looked as if he were gazing out of the window behind Delacroix but he was thinking. He and the Captain were locked in a battle of wills and he was determined to win.

Summoned to the office after the morning muster, he had knocked on the door, was ordered to enter and had adopted his formal stance. That had been some ten minutes ago and Delacroix had studiously ignored him ever since, pretending to be absorbed in writing a letter. Eventually, it was the Captain who broke the silence.

"At this morning's muster, I find that I am five musketeers down," he said pointedly. "Why did you not see fit to keep me informed?"

"The opportunity failed to present itself," Athos answered, his voice and face both void of expression. "Duval and Moreau were sent to deliver missives from the King. They are expected back later today."

"And your friends? Porthos, Aramis and d'Artgnan. When are they expected back?

"I gave them five days at the most for their task," Athos explained.

"And what exactly was the nature of their task? No, let me guess," Delacroix scoffed. "You sent them off on a wild goose chase after Treville, didn't you?"

"It's not a wild goose chase," objected Athos.

"He's dead and the sooner you accept that, the better for everyone." Delacroix was mocking him.

"How can you be so sure?" Athos demanded and then his green eyes narrowed. "Unless you know something I don't."

"Of course I don't. The idea's absurd," Delacroix said defensively but once again Athos did not believe him, his protest seemingly forced.

"If the others come back with no news, you must widen the search area and send more men," Athos insisted.

Delacroix' face darkened, "You presume to tell me what to do?"

Athos knew that he had pushed too far and too soon. "I am sorry," he conceded, "but seven musketeers cannot just disappear; something happened to them and they must have left some sort of trace. We have to keep searching."

"Why?" Delacroix asked.

"Why?" Athos could not believe the question. "They may be hurt and in dire need of help."

"And they may be dead," Delacroix contended. "You are becoming obsessive about this. Face facts; they're gone."

"What facts? There are no facts; that's the problem," Athos maintained.

Delacroix eyed him curiously. "You have a strange loyalty to Treville, I grant you that." He paused. "We'll wait until your friends get back and see what they have to say. I'll decide then what, if anything, we'll do. Agreed?"

Athos nodded, aware that he had no choice and there was no guarantee that Delacroix would order the search to continue if needed.

"Where were you going at three in the morning when my men apprehended you?" Delacroix inquired, his tone deceptively pleasant.

Athos was ready with his story. "I could not sleep and thought a walk might help."

"And you expect me to believe that?"

Shrugging, Athos refused to say an outright lie. "I would like to know why I was prevented from having that walk. I was unaware that garrison rules had changed and that we were not allowed to leave the site." He watched Delacroix and waited for an explanation that was not forthcoming, "Or is it a new restriction limited to just me?"

"It would be better if you remained within the garrison unless on duty elsewhere," Delacroix eventually said, smoothly.

"And why is that?" Athos continued to appear totally unruffled.

Delacroix deflected the question, "It is not a good idea to be wandering out in the street alone in the middle of the night; I would not want any more musketeers to go missing."

Athos ignored the response. "Will all my movements be under such close scrutiny?" he demanded.

Delacroix was not prepared to be drawn in and deftly changed the subject. "When you brought the inventory, you said you wanted to speak to me about something. What was it?"

Athos hesitated for he was at a distinct disadvantage. He needed to air the men's grievance but he did not want to anger Delacroix to the point where he refused to widen and continue the search for Treville and the others. Taking a deep breath, he began.

"I had promised the men a special meal to say my thanks for the work they had done. It is so easy to find fault with others but often we do not always give praise where it is due. I wanted to address that but you withdrew my instructions."

"You were no longer in command and it was an extravagance we could do without," Delacroix insisted, his mood growing colder.

"I had already considered the budget and knew that it was possible to manage it. It was a small price to pay to show the men that they were appreciated. They will follow you more readily if you value them."

"A touching sentiment, if you're given to that sort of thing, but _I_ would appreciate it if you refrained from telling me how to do my job. Correct me if I am wrong but you only had the position for just over two weeks; I doubt very much if you had become an expert in that short period. In fact, it can hardly be said that you distinguished yourself."

Athos might have begged to differ on that point given the Austrian dignitary's visit but he wanted to speak for the men. "It was your decision to stop the meal and it is immaterial whether I agree with that or not but I ask you to reconsider your choices when the men do not have a proper meal at the end of a long day. If they are improperly fed, they are susceptible to disease."

Delacroix' face became thunderous. "I thank you for your counsel, even though it was uncalled for. I will bear it in mind. Now, haven't you got work to do?

"You did not instruct me as to today's task." Athos said quietly, firmly believing that his previous words had all fallen on deaf ears.

"That's straightforward. Yesterday you did the inventory. Now you will discharge all firearms, ensuring that their mechanisms are functioning properly and then you will clean them all."

"Maintenance of the weapons is the responsibility of the armourer," explained Athos, his heart sinking as he realised the task was going to take another day or more if he was made to do it alone.

The Captain leapt to his feet, his patience exhausted. "Are you determined to question every decision I make and order I give? If so, I can easily put you on a charge for something like insubordination. It's been a while since the garrison has had a court martial." Athos refrained from making any further comment, recognising that it was not in his best interests.

"Get to work. If you are to do it adequately, it should take you the next two days as you will be working on your own. You'll probably have to work a double duty to ensure that it is done before the deadline; I shall make my inspection at five tomorrow afternoon. You may go."

…..

Later that evening, Delacroix was delighting in recounting his exchange with Athos for the benefit of his followers who crowded round the table brought into an anteroom for them to dine at as a group. The fare was once again impressive and differed from what was being presented to the remainder of the garrison. Delacroix was also determined that he was not going to wait for it either; Serge was instructed to be serving it punctually at seven before most of the other men could receive theirs.

When the hilarity had died down, Delacroix carefully surveyed each of his friends before he spoke again.

"I have everything sorted at present to keep him occupied. I want him under observation to make sure he doesn't get any more ideas about wandering. Lalley, Bertram, that'll be your responsibility." The two men nodded their understanding but Delacroix had not finished.

"His friends are due back in about four days from now but they could be sooner. It depends how quickly they get the message that they won't find Treville or the others." A couple of the men gathered at the table sniggered. "He's even asking that if they come back with nothing, I extend the search area and make more men available." Some of the men laughed aloud and Delacroix warmed to his subject. "Now why on earth would I want to do that?

"Faron, nearer the time, you will keep a lookout for his friends' early return. It would be both advantageous and interesting if they were to witness the next stage in the proceedings. As for the rest of you, you each have your instructions but no-one is to become overzealous in his part. As much as it pains me to say it - for the man has been a thorn in my side for far too long - Richelieu has made it quite clear that he doesn't want him dead yet so there must be no mistakes."


	19. Chapter 19

**_We have to leave Athos temporarily at the mercy (or not) of Delacroix and, as promised, rejoin the others as they search for Treville. What will they find? I hope you enjoy this. Next chapter will be in a couple of days._**

CHAPTER 19

The three musketeers reined in their horses about a quarter of a mile from the monastery and viewed the walled building. It had a forbidding exterior of pale grey stone and few windows overlooking the outside realm, reinforcing the notion that the brotherhood and laity that resided within may have originally been of the world but were definitely no longer a part of it. The men were as uneasy as their restless mounts that refused to stand still, instead stamping the ground with their hooves, tossing their heads and snorting their impatience. In a few minutes, they would have an answer – whether or not Treville and his party had reached the monastery.

"We've made good time," d'Artagnan said, trying to be positive.

Aramis nodded, "The weather's held at least." Dark, heavy clouds had moved in overnight and sat malevolently over the countryside throughout their day's journey. Humidity was high, the heat stifling so that they had unbuttoned doublets, even going so far as removing them for part of the ride, but the storm that constantly threatened had failed to materialise thus far. For that, each of them was thankful for they needed there to be no rain; conditions had to remain stable if they were to begin tracking, otherwise any clues or evidence would be washed away.

Porthos sat easily in the saddle, putting on his doublet again and beginning to button it up. His companions followed suit as he spoke. "Let's get on with this then. We need to start gettin' some answers."

They urged their horses into a gallop and quickly covered the ground to the large, gated entrance. Their approach was obviously noted as the oak gates swung open as they arrived and two robed men awaited them.

"Good afternoon, brothers," Aramis greeted them. "We are King's musketeers and would ask for your help."

"You are all welcome," said the elder of the two, a ruddy faced individual with grey hair and a corpulent frame. "We rarely have visitors and here we find ourselves the host to two groups of musketeers in less than a week."

The three soldiers looked at each other with some relief; they would not have to be part of a search party that scoured the country from here to Normandy. They dismounted and led their horses through the gateway in the wake of the two monks, the footfall of the animals echoing loudly in the cobbled courtyard.

D'Artagnan wanted reassurance and confirmation that all Treville's party had been safely there. "You had seven men staying recently?"

"Of course but Father Benedict will answer any of your questions," the younger monk explained as a man in civilian clothing rounded a building and came towards them. "Francois here will take your horses and care for them. We will take you first to the guest quarters where you can wash off the dust of travel and leave any belongings there before we take you to join Father Benedict for your evening meal."

An hour later, the musketeers found themselves in a cool, austere room, seated at a plain wooden table and partaking in a meal of chicken, vegetables and freshly baked bread. At the head of the table sat Father Benedict, a white-haired, tall, lean man with a face heavily lined by his advancing years.

He had been disturbed that none of his previous guests had successfully returned to Paris and declared immediately that the group would be added to the prayers of the brotherhood. In the same way that he now shared a meal with Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan, he told them that he had dined with their Captain, enjoying the company and eagerly absorbing news of the outside world that usually passed by the monastery and its inhabitants. Once political and court news had been imparted by Treville, their instant, mutual regard readily led them to topics of conversation on a deeper and more personal level.

"Captain Treville and I spoke at length together that evening and we found that we had much in common," said Father Benedict, watching the young men as they ate hungrily and urged them with a wave of the hand to help themselves. "Both of us are leaders of men, charged with responsibility for them by a higher authority; in his case, the King and in mine, God. Young men come to us at an impressionable age, impetuous and reckless in many instances and it falls to us to tame those wild spirits, teach and mould them into strong and faithful warriors. His men fight against the outward evil of the drawn sword on the battlefield, to face the machinations of those driven to bring about the downfall of others and to endanger the innocent. My soldiers put on the armour of God and join the army of Christ as they battle with the evil that is in man's soul."

He paused to refill their goblets with a red wine and poured himself another cup of water before continuing. "We both know what it is to lose our soldiers and we admitted weeping for those who have gone before. Your Captain has seen his men fall in the midst of violence and blood whilst I have seen them battle plague, other infirmities and old age. As much as I pray for them for an easy passing, there are still those who will not go without a fight of their own.

"Captain Treville and I are also alike in that we are bound to our jobs; it is like a marriage of sorts with its commitments and obligations and the men in our care make up our family. He asked me if I had ever had favourites amongst the brothers."

All three were listening closely to his words. Aramis sat back contentedly in his seat, his fingers playing with the stem of the goblet. Porthos tore off another chunk of the tempting bread and wiped at the juices on his plate whilst d'Artagnan reached for a red apple from a simple wooden bowl in the centre of the table and bit into its crisp flesh.

Father Benedict gave a winsome smile as he reminisced. "I had to confess reluctantly that I had; it is human nature. I know only too well that I should love equally as any father should his children but we all know that is not always the case, even amongst those linked by blood. In such a large group of individuals as within the walls of this abbey and, I am sure, within your garrison in Paris, the sheer numbers make that more difficult. Your Captain spoke of his regret that it had taken until this journey for him to begin to know the men with whom he travelled and I could see that it saddened him greatly. There will always be those to whom we are easily drawn because we are kindred spirits in so many ways and there are certainly those with whom we are thrown together when, in another life, our paths would not have crossed. I repeatedly have to ask God for more understanding, patience and compassion in dealing with a small number of my brothers but I have no doubt that, to them, I have my own annoyances and imperfections. We all have to learn to accept each other for what we are."

He broke off from his tale to proffer Porthos more meat but the big man shook his head and laid a hand across his stomach, indicating that he was replete.

"I told him of one young man in particular, a younger son of a reasonably wealthy family," he continued. "Not destined to inherit, he entered the church but he was a fiery youth, devoid of malice but full of mischief and, try as he might, he found our ways hard, the discipline stifling. Oh the many conversations I had to have with him! He was always remorseful and intent on improving his ways and I know, as he uttered the words, he meant them with all his heart but it was no good. Eventually we had our final exchange and it was agreed he would leave us to make his way in the world. I felt that I had failed him and I saw in his eyes his pain as he thought he had disappointed me. He could never do that, he was so full of life. I felt his absence keenly, the chaos he created and his irreligious laughter but I had to keep telling myself that the decision was for the best."

The musketeers sat silently listening, riveted to the man's words as they were delivered in a soft, lyrical tone.

"It was late one night some four months later that an unholy hammering was heard at the monastery gates. It was him, mortally wounded and victim of an unprovoked attack. He had found his way home to us. In the infirmary, I spent hours praying with and for him and, as dawn broke, he made his final peace with God. I held him close as he died in my arms with a tear in his eye and a smile on his lips. I should have been pleased that he was with God the Father. Instead, I railed against the injustice, the waste of so much promise and vitality and I wept for days at his loss until, at length, through much prayer and supplication, God saw fit to restore my own inner peace.

"Your Captain had fallen silent at my words, his eyes dark, his face pained and I knew they had struck an unwelcome chord with him, some distant memory had been stirred but he would not be drawn. Instead, I turned his initial question back on him and asked if he had his favourites. I suspected there had been a reason for his initial inquiry but half expected him to deny it, a man of his calibre would do his utmost to remain impartial. I was much amused by his response."

Although he had had the young men's attention from the beginning, he sensed that their attention was heightened by the prospect of a revelation by their leader. Even as he spoke, he watched them carefully.

"He looked hard into his wine goblet before answering with such warmth in his voice and eyes. He spoke of four young men, united by an impenetrable bond of friendship, love and brotherhood and told me such tales of their escapades and derring-do that we laughed together so hard until our eyes filled with tears. His Inseparables, he called them, and despite the challenges, headaches and frustrations they presented him with on more than one occasion, the admiration and fondness he felt for them was beyond dispute."

The room and its occupants fell still; it was almost as if the three soldiers were holding their breath, they were concentrating so hard on what they were hearing. Father Benedict was aware that his words were having a significant impact on the men.

"I could not help wondering at the time whether these young men had any inkling of the high regard and depth of feeling with which they were held by their commanding officer and I longed for the opportunity to make sure that they knew. I strongly suspected, however, that the feeling was mutual. If it is proven that he is lost, then it is even more imperative that they know."

As he watched the men, each head dropped and they became interested in the table top or fascinated by a non-existent speck on their clothing as they determinedly avoided each other's gaze, their faces taking on pained expressions.

Father Benedict smiled, "In my prayers tonight, I shall give thanks to God for bringing three of those young men to my table this day, for showing me that I was right and for giving me the chance to tell them."

As one, three heads lifted and three pairs of intense, dark eyes met his in shock at his pronouncement.

"I knew you the moment you were brought into my presence. Captain Treville had described you so vividly and then, when you introduced yourselves, that was mere confirmation. You will have to tell me why your friend Athos is not with you.

"As for Captain Treville, I sensed he left here with a heavy heart, as if he feared that something would happen. He insisted that all the men, himself included, had confessions heard before they left. Once shriven, he seemed more at ease. You know I cannot speak of what passed between us in the confessional but, as he departed, he muttered something, not intending it for my hearing, but I heard it nonetheless. It sounded like, 'God spare me another Savoy.'"


	20. Chapter 20

**_Oh dear, I am sorry that some of you now are so worried about the unfolding story. I really don't know what you're going to think of me after this chapter! In fact, I'm not sure what you're going to think of me after several chapters this coming week ..._**

CHAPTER 20

The three friends passed a restless night and little sleep was enjoyed by all, so pre-occupied were they by the words of Father Benedict when he told them about Treville's thoughts on the _Inseparables._ Originally offered two guestrooms – one room sleeping two persons – they had carried the mattress from the second room through to the first and set it on the floor between the two beds. D'Artagnan volunteered to take the floor space but he spent much of the dark hours listening to the tossing and turning of Porthos. It was Aramis who eventually broke the silence, revealing that he too was wide awake.

"Porthos, keep still. The way you're throwing yourself about, you'll have the bed collapsing under you and that pillow you keep thumping won't last till morning."

"Sorry," Porthos replied grumpily. "I can't get comfortable."

"It's your mind that won't settle comfortably," Aramis countered, guessing that what lay at the heart of the big man's inability to sleep was the same for them all. Silence fell on the men once more but not for long.

This time it was d'Artagnan who spoke, his voice sounding strange in the darkness. "What do you suppose he meant by that?" Another pause ensued; they were never going to get to sleep at this rate.

"What did who mean by what?" Porthos demanded.

"Treville. What did he mean when he said he hoped God would spare him another Savoy?" He was wary of upsetting Aramis who still experienced occasional nightmares about being one of only two survivors from the massacre. However, the psychological damage the incident inflicted on the other man, Marsac, subsequently inspired his desertion and was tantamount to destroying him then but in a different, more insidious way.

It was Aramis who responded. "Treville knew what was likely to happen at Savoy, it was a conscious decision that he made with a group of musketeers. If this is another Savoy in his mind, then he was equally aware that they were a marked group with little or no hope of making it back to Paris alive."

"Athos was right then. Treville was expecting something to happen on their route an' now we've narrowed it down to the road between the monastery and Paris," Porthos added. "So he consciously made the decision of who would accompany him on this mission. Remember, Athos told us he had already selected the men who were to go with him."

In the period of silent reflection that followed, the three men came to the same chilling revelation as Athos had only the night before.

D'Artagnan softly breathed the question he knew he had to ask for clarification. "You mean he had chosen specific men knowing that they were likely to die?"

"To die with him as well, don't forget that," Aramis said.

Porthos voiced another thought. "He had refused to let any of us three accompany him, saying we had to look out for Athos."

"So it was something of an excuse. He was protecting us," d'Artagnan gasped.

"Well, we were still needed to protect Athos," Porthos reasoned. "By putting him in charge, perhaps Treville reckoned he was layin' him open to another sort of danger and that with us around, it might keep 'im safer for longer."

"We haven't done a very good job so far." The suppressed anger in d'Artagnan's words was unmistakable. "The garrison was attacked with the food and now we're here and Athos is alone back in Paris. Anything could happen."

"Mon Dieu!" Aramis was still contemplating the choice that Treville had been forced to make. "That man had to weigh up the advantages and disadvantages, strengths and weaknesses of the men in his regiment to reach a decision to potentially sacrifice a few."

"How could he do that?" d'Artagnan was finding it difficult to comprehend such an assessment.

"The demands of leadership,"Porthos said grimly and simply. "The ability to follow through with that hard conclusion is what sets him apart from many others. If Athos stays as Captain, it's what he's going to have to do. Right now, he takes too much on himself. He leads by example an' there's nothin' wrong with that; the men respect 'im for it, as do we, an' we'd all follow him into the jaws of hell but as Captain, he has to look at the bigger picture. There'll be difficult decisions and he'll have to delegate and' give orders – an' then learn to live with the consequences. Just as with Treville, any order he gives could lead to the deaths of his men."

"There's a savage difference between a possibility and the probability Treville was facing," Aramis observed.

They lapsed into another long silence and when d'Artagnan finally spoke, it was with a voice choked with grief. "You really think that Treville is dead then?"

Porthos sighed heavily. "It's beginning to look more and more like it."

"We're going to have to tell Athos," d'Artagnan continued. "I don't like to think how he's going to take the news."

"He does seem to have become obsessive in his belief that Treville is still alive," Porthos admitted worriedly.

"And if we don't go back with a body or some other form of evidence, I suspect he still won't believe it," Aramis concluded.

"It'll eat away at him,"d'Artagnan said, his concern felt by all of them.

…..

Before the subdued three took their leave of Father Benedict following an early breakfast the next morning, they knelt at his feet as he laid a hand on each of their bowed heads in turn, offering a benediction and prayer that they would remain safe and that they would find the answers they still sought. He added a heartfelt intercession for Treville, the other missing musketeers and the friend they had left behind in Paris. The change in the men's mood from the previous evening was noticeable and he could see from their drawn faces and heavy eyes that sleep had evaded them.

He watched as they donned heavy capes that promised little protection from the torrential rain that fell outside, the weather at last having broken and now doing its best to emulate their sombre demeanour. The horses were brought round for them by the drenched Francois, the rain hitting the ground so hard that the compacted earth of the previous day was littered with huge puddles, the raindrops rebounding in a spray that spread a grey veil at ankle height. They touched their hat brims in a final, deferential farewell to Father Benedict and the brothers who stood behind him before checking girths, fixing their saddle bags and swinging with ease up onto horseback.

Leaving the monastery, they headed for the road to Paris and began the mammoth task of periodically visiting the hamlets and villages that lay back from the main route. Discussion between them had been brief as to the wisdom of staying together or separating and covering a wider area. Eventually they opted for remaining as one, mindful of strength in numbers and finding solace in each other's company as they rode with hearts made heavy with negativity and fear, especially as the hours passed with no new information and no sign of the rain abating.

If Treville and his men had been attacked by bandits, then travelling alone would make each of the three easy victims. If seven men had failed to beat off an assault, then three could hardly expect to be more successful, although they definitely had the skills and experience to put up a harder fight than the men who accompanied Treville. The unspoken agreement between them, though, was that if they were attacked, then they would fall together. On the other hand, if Treville's disappearance was the result of a more careful and deliberate plan, they did not know if musketeers in general were the targets and therefore they should stay together for mutual support.

Their visits to the sparsely populated areas were fruitless. No one had seen or heard anything of a group of musketeers and there had not been any sightings of a roving band of strangers or threats to the local inhabitants. The rain had done its worst and any tracks or evidence that might explain the musketeers' disappearance had effectively been washed away.

They spent the next two nights in inns they passed, desperate to dry sodden clothing in front of a fire and find some respite in sleep but their moods plummeted further. Each new day had them more exhausted, desperately drawing on still damp, uncomfortable uniforms and growing more unreasonably irritable, sharp words passing occasionally between them. The annoying thing was that the friends saw what was happening and fully understood why.

They were moved by Father Benedict's words, that the officer they held in such high regard and viewed as a friend had such feeling for them also had confirmed what they long suspected but had never expected to have voiced. They felt his loss keenly but struggled against a final acceptance of his death, preferring to couch any speculation with words such as 'might', 'possibly', 'perhaps', 'maybe' and 'it looks like'. Individually they fought their rising grief and the fear of what such news would do to the fourth member of their group, reluctant as they were to be the ones to tell him.

Aramis and Porthos had both been witness to when Athos first joined the regiment as a distant, apparently arrogant recruit but it became clear that his aloof nature hid some personal strife as he launched himself onto a self-destructive path. Treville had sensed the potential that the man harboured and had adopted him as a project, disciplining, cajoling, encouraging and ordering him by degrees until he began to respond and then spending time talking to him and listening, especially in the aftermath of a vicious drinking session, drawing him out in some way. It had often bemused Porthos and Aramis as to what the men found to discuss for hours because even as their own strange friendship with the young musketeer hesitantly began and then flourished in an unlikely fashion, they knew that he was holding back on his past life and what had brought him to Paris. It had been five years until they discovered a few months earlier, and quite by chance, that Athos was the Comte de la Fère. It was even more recent that they learned that the wife he believed dead by his own orders was still alive, in the employment of the Cardinal and determined to destroy him. This quiet, private man had then continued to keep his feelings close in the aftermath of banishing her from Paris.

As frustrated as they were with him at times, they recognised that his reluctance to be open with them stemmed from so many complex issues. His childhood upbringing and the expectations others demanded of him had shaped him in a manner that he found hard to change; he suppressed his feelings until almost incapable of giving them voice, allowing the more extreme emotions to eat away at him, the main all-consuming one being an unutterable guilt for all that had transpired. He found it so difficult at times to believe that his friends accepted him unconditionally for he had never forgiven himself. Yet when he did give of himself in their friendship, it was with a fierce loyalty and commitment, a preparedness to give his life for his brothers. Underlying it all was this troubled man's gift of leadership and dedication; unable to let it come to fruition as comte, he had fortunately chosen to utilise and hone his skills as a musketeer.

It was all this and more that Treville had seen and sensed in the disturbed young man who stood in his office nearly six years before in search of a commission. It had taken much patience and, at times, ire but it had forged unbreakable links of respect, loyalty and friendship in the younger man. Now the other three _Inseparables _baulked at telling him that they had failed to find any definite information that might account for the officer's disappearance. The man they regarded as a father figure to them all was, perhaps, even more so to Athos for the musketeer had more than hinted at the fact that his deceased younger brother had been everyone's favourite and they long suspected that the previous comte had lavished little affection on his eldest son. Treville had unwittingly played that role and more as he nurtured the new recruit into the man who became his replacement.

Just how deeply would Athos feel that loss? How would he react? Would he embark again on the destructive drinking bouts or worse? How often could they drag him back from the brink of oblivion? So many questions and now, on the morning of the fifth day, the three sat in their saddles and looked at each other, wondering who would make the final decision. Eventually it was Porthos who took a deep breath and surveyed the others in turn.

"We have to be back in Paris by late this afternoon; that'll make the five days he gave us. It's important to get back to Athos as he'll be waiting on our report."

D'Artagnan looked at Aramis for support, "As we head back, we could still go off the main route a little. There are still more places to investigate."

Aramis shook his head. "We've been as thorough as time has allowed. There has been no trace of Treville or the others since they left the monastery and the weather has transpired against us. Once Athos knows, he'll probably widen the search area and send out more men but I know that I, for one, need to see for myself that he's alright."

Porthos nodded his agreement, "It's goin' to be hard enough us arrivin' back without Treville. I just don't know how Athos is goin' to take it."

"Badly for sure," Aramis interjected, "but we can't put off telling him."

"How much longer do you think he'll keep up the search though? He said he wanted answers no matter what," d'Artagnan asked.

"If he 'as his way, he'll not give up," Porthos said determinedly, "but 'e knows the reality. At some point he'll 'ave to make that decision to call off the search, acceptin' that Treville is dead. Whatever 'appens, we 'ave to let 'im reach that moment on 'is own. It's not goin' to be easy for 'im but it's part of the responsibility he now has."

"We'll just have to make sure that we are around to pick up the pieces," Aramis observed grimly.

"And we have to hope that he lets us," d'Artagnan added.

Porthos frowned. "It's up to us to make sure that 'appens, that he doesn't shut down on us or anyone. If and when the time comes that 'e has to make that announcement, there'll be a lot of people hurtin', not just us, an' they'll all be looking to 'im for support an' leadership."

"I feel like I'm betraying him and Captain Treville with us talking like this," d'Artagnan added miserably.

"Tell yourself that we're looking at the worst case scenario. We have to think about all eventualities, especially if Athos isn't ready to do that at the moment," Aramis advised softly.

"Yeah, we have to be strong for each other – and him," Porthos said reflectively.

Aramis sighed. "Let's go then," and he spurred his horse onwards, easing it into a steady canter for there were many miles to cover before they reached home, hearts heavy with the news that they did not want to share with their friend.

….

Twenty miles north and at about the same time as they stopped to have their conversation, two men, Marceau and Robert, brothers from a nearby cluster of simple buildings that should not even qualify for the title of village, were hunting to put food on the tables of the community. Moving quietly through a copse at the edge of open land, they entered a gully at the base of a steep embankment. The rains had left the ground muddy but as they moved quietly onwards in pursuit of their quarry - a young deer – Robert noticed an unexpected patch of blue in the mud ahead. Curious, he approached and crouched down, reaching out to take hold of the piece of sodden woollen fabric. Pulling on it, he was amazed that more reluctantly came free, disturbing the cloying ground and revealing a different material beneath. He wiped away at it and discovered a stiff leather.

Calling to his brother, they set to in silence in order to uncover the findings, scrabbling at the mud in consternation as they sought to prove what they both feared. Eventually, they stood up and surveyed the results of their digging. They had cleared enough to reveal a leather clad right arm ending in a cold, lifeless hand. On the upper arm was the tell-tale pauldron of the musketeer regiment, engraved with the familiar fleur de lis symbol of the King of France.

Swallowing hard, Robert took control. "I'll stay with the body. You go back to the village, get some shovels and bring some more help. This poor devil should not have died here and deserves a proper burial with fitting words rather than a hasty and make-shift grave. He has been deposited here in shallow earth and the rains have come down this embankment washing away the soil at the bottom to reveal this resting place."

When Marceau had gone, Robert continued to move as much mud as he could, offering prayers for the dead man as he worked but when he uncovered another right arm lying across the torso of the first man, he shuddered with the realisation that there was more than one man buried here.

It seemed an age before Marceau returned with several men, including a visiting priest who had fortuitously arrived at the settlement to give the last rites to an elder of the village. Bleakly they worked as one, digging with shovels and bare hands to reclaim the bodies from the mud.

Nearly two hours later, they stood in a circle and surveyed the extent of their grim discovery. The crumpled mass of bodies – so many more than the initial two - were intertwined, thrown carelessly together in the shallow grave in a _danse macabre_. Their fatal wounds were varied and numerous and spoke of musket balls, the slash of swords and crushed skulls. Their deaths had been brutal, the blue cloaks black in large patches with their shed blood.

"We must take them back to the village," Robert declared. "While we dig proper graves, the women folk can wash the bodies clean and wrap them respectfully. We haven't got coffins for them but a couple of the men can make crosses to mark their last resting place. Father, we would appreciate it if you would stay with us and give these men appropriate words."

"Of course," the priest agreed. "It is the least I can do. Sadly we have no names for these poor men but someone must be missing them: mothers, loved ones, their commanding officer. We can at least send them on their final journey with dignity and care and alert the garrison in Paris as to where they are buried."

"Who could have killed a patrol of musketeers?" Marceau asked worriedly. "Might they be angry at our finding the bodies and reburying them?"

"How will they know? Do you think they will come back on a weekly basis to make sure the mass grave remains undisturbed? Of course not," Robert said convincingly. "They have killed the patrol and moved on and will not return to the scene of their crime. We have not seen or heard of any strangers in the area. What would you have us do? Shovel the mud back over them and pretend that they are not here within a mile of the village? How could we rest easily ourselves, knowing that we have ignored our Christian duty to these poor men? The Musketeers protect King Louis and the common man. How can we abandon them now? We will bury them and send word to the garrison in Paris."

The gathered men mumbled their agreement, two of them heading back to the village to collect a cart to transport the bodies whilst those who remained set about releasing the group of corpses from the final clutch of the mud. They disentangled all the bodies and laid them out beside each other, straightening the limbs and eying the frightening array of wounds the men sported.

The villagers came together as one in the subsequent hours. They came out of their homes and stood in respectful silence as the cart, loaded with the dead, was wheeled into the centre of the village at the head of a small procession. As the line of individual graves was dug, the women tended the lifeless men, cleaning their bodies and hair of blood and mud before redressing them in uniforms wiped free of as much filth as possible. Two men fashioned crosses from wood, carving the date and the title 'A King's Musketeer' whilst children went out and gathered posies of wild flowers.

When all was done, they collected at the gravesides on the outskirts of the village, heads bowed respectfully as each man was laid to rest. The priest intoned the words of the burial ceremony and the graves were infilled before the crosses were hammered into the ground and the posies were laid on the freshly turned earth.

As night fell and the villagers retired to their homes, a blanket of silence fell about the new graves. The missing patrol of musketeers had at last been found. They had been reburied with respect and mourned by a group of compassionate strangers. All that remained was for someone to notify the garrison.


	21. Chapter 21

**_Thank you so much for the reviews that continue to come in and it's great to read your speculation. However, I am giving nothing more away! Thank you also for continuing to read; I hope you enjoy today's chapter._**

CHAPTER 21

By working double duties for two days, Athos met the five o'clock deadline dictated by Delacroix. As he had anticipated, the armourer, Duval, had been somewhat nonplussed that Athos had been tasked with discharging and then cleaning all the firearms but when he knew the order had been issued by the regiment's new captain, his single word response, "Oh," had been imbued with such a dismissive yet understanding tone that Athos could not suppress a smile.

It would have been so much simpler to load a cart and wheel it round to the open land behind the garrison where weapons were tested and basic firing practice was held but Delacroix, determined to be as obstructive as possible, had issued a further directive. As Athos was working alone, he was instructed not to take more than six weapons at a time, fire them and clean them immediately before he collected the next batch. Duval initially tried to help, walking with him and carrying several muskets but, thanks to the watchful eye of Bertram, Delacroix was informed and intervened, banishing Duval to another task.

It did not take long to load and discharge six weapons and Athos was skilled enough at cleaning his own pistol swiftly but thoroughly. He laid out the cleaning materials and soon settled into a productive routine but it was the constant walking backwards and forwards from the armoury that was wasted time. He did contemplate breaking with instructions and leaving weapons to be cleaned whilst taking others out to fire but as he went to leave the armoury, he saw Lalley lounging around nearby and carefully watching the entrance. It was obvious he was there to assess the time it took for Athos to return, clean a clutch of weapons and emerge with the next load. Several times, as he walked to and from the field, Bertram would appear and watch him for several moments.

So he was not to be trusted, his every move was being scrutinised.

He was tired but exhilarated when the task was completed about fifteen minutes ahead of schedule and he was sitting down on a stool as Delacroix briskly entered the armoury, closely followed by Garris and Massart. Athos rose to his feet and snapped to attention, wondering if Delacroix was afraid to move without being accompanied by one or more of his minions or whether he misguidedly thought that this was a show of power and authority meant to intimidate the rest of the garrison. It was annoying but certainly had no effect on him whatsoever.

However, he felt a grim satisfaction when he caught the disappointed expression on Delacroix' face. He had obviously not been expected to complete the task in the time given and Athos wondered what sanction would have been brought to bear had he not succeeded in meeting the deadline. The Captain had reluctantly carried out his brief inspection but had found absolutely nothing about which he could complain and he had departed quickly without a word, not that Athos had expected to be thanked.

Minutes later, Duval had considered it safe enough to return and he had been overwhelming in his praise for a job well done given the circumstances. Athos had cleaned things away and even found time to sweep the floor of the armoury. Duval's thanks were sincere and worth far more than anything Delacroix could have said, had he been so inclined.

Athos at last had the time to eat properly in the mess that evening and enjoyed the companionship and repartee of his fellow musketeers. Their unease at the sudden change of leadership had been overridden by their growing and combined dislike of Delacroix, brought about by his negligent treatment of them and his abuse of authority. They could all bear witness to his unreasonable attitude towards Athos and the way in which none had been allowed to offer their assistance. They eagerly and unquestioningly welcomed him back within their ranks, many speaking openly now of their regret that he no longer led them and they could not help but wonder if things could ever be the same.

Serge had been tasked with preparing a hot meal but the meat was limited and he had tried to supplement the fare with a greater portion of vegetables. The men stirred their stew, seeking the beef and would have complained had they not known that the restrictions were imposed by their captain. More would have sought satisfying meals in nearby inns had they the financial means to pay their way but the wages were now a day overdue as well. Just another reason for the musketeers to have little or no faith in their commanding officer.

In the mess, the ale flowed freely though and spirits revived as the men entertained themselves and each other with increasingly exaggerated stories of past exploits and the laughter gained momentum. Athos could not help but join in, their merriment infectious, although it only served to heighten his sense of loneliness. He was missing his friends more than he ever thought possible but it could be a further two days before they returned.

Those same two days saw him assigned to another task – the cleaning out of the stables. The stable boys were baffled by his presence but when they saw that he was not going to remove them from grooming and feeding the animals, they were happier. On each day since he had lost command, Athos had sought an audience with Delacroix to raise the issue of the food and then the wages but, after this morning, he was to be denied access. Delacroix was angry, especially with Athos' repeated applications for a wider search to be made for Treville and he was fast losing patience with the man's perseverance. The Captain's most recent meeting with Richelieu had reinforced the order that Athos was not to be killed and he had returned from the palace in a dark mood, not understanding the enforced delay in being able to rid himself of the annoying musketeer. Instead, he set his mind to creating more ingenious ways to humiliate Athos and cause him to suffer.

Delacroix had made a serious mistake if he hoped that Athos would regard the mucking out of stables as being beneath him. He had done it plenty of times as a lad and it fell to every musketeer to take his turn at the duty. To him, it was a necessity and no hardship.

Manual labour might be deemed mundane and repetitive by some but considering his mood, Athos welcomed the physicality of the task. On the second day, therefore, with his doublet draped over a wooden post and his shirt sleeves rolled up, he had broken into a justified sweat forking the fouled straw out of the stalls into a wheelbarrow before emptying it repeatedly onto the midden heap behind the stables. He found the hard work gratifying and a distraction for it meant that he could do it automatically with little thought.

He was vaguely aware that the courtyard had been unusually quiet for the past hour but he was not about to question Delacroix' duty roster. It was not his problem if the Captain had seen fit to abandon any sparring practice that day.

The horse in the next stall suddenly grew restive, low whinnies escaping it as it stamped its hooves in agitation. He moved to its side, grabbing its halter and placing a calming hand on its nose, stroking it and whispering soothing words close to its ear but it would not be placated. It was when the horse's eyes widened and rolled in fear that he was alerted to danger but before he had a chance to turn, he was hit on the back of the head. There was a sickening eruption of pain but it was short-lived as he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

When he came to, he had no idea as to how much time had elapsed. He was sitting on a chair, his arms pulled round behind him and tightly bound, the rope cutting into his wrists. With his head pounding, he was further disorientated by being blindfolded. He did not know where he was but could detect movement near him.

"Who is it? Why are you doing this? What's happening? Where am I?" There was no answer to any of his questions and the movement seemed to come at him from all sides, indicating more than one captor. He had faced many a danger in his time and had felt the rush of adrenalin as the direct result of fear but now his heart raced and his breathing quickened with the mounting terror at his disadvantage. He was used to seeing his danger, of facing it head on and this enforced blindness was unnerving. His captors moved around him as silently as they could and none spoke. What did they want with him?

Suddenly hands grasped his head and pulled it back as more hands grabbed his jaw and forced open his mouth. The neck of a bottle was pushed between his teeth and wine poured down his throat, taking him by surprise. He tried to jerk away but he was held fast; the wine was flowing too quickly and he coughed and gagged, unable to drink fast enough. They stopped and gave him the opportunity to catch his breath and then forced the bottle into his mouth again but still he couldn't swallow quickly. A second bottle was produced when the first was empty but he did briefly wonder how much he had imbibed and how much had spilt down his shirtfront as it stuck to his chest in wet discomfort. When he lashed out with his feet in a desperate defensive move, he made a hard contact with a shin and felt a grim satisfaction as one of his assailants emitted a pained grunt but the victory was merely temporary as hands and arms scrabbled to seize his legs and the next he knew, his ankles were being roughly bound to the chair legs.

Athos did not know how long the nightmare continued nor had he any idea how much he had been forced to drink but his head was swimming and he was beginning to feel horribly sick on the cheap wine. It was a long time since he had had so much to drink and certainly never at this speed so, combined with the fact that he had not had much to eat at breakfast, he was rapidly becoming drunk. Still no-one spoke; they seemed to act as one using their combined strength to hold him still and coerce him to drink more. Panic began to sweep through him as he wondered if he could drown in the alcohol or choke to death if they continued to pour wine into him after he had slipped into the merciful oblivion for which he longed.

The blindfold exacerbated his spinning head and when they paused in their torture, he found his voice, his words hopelessly slurred. "Please," he begged. "Please stop."


	22. Chapter 22

_**Many thanks as always to those who have marked the story as favourite or follows and to those who review. Some people I can respond to personally but to those I can't, I love to hear from you too. I am amazed and touched by the growing number of reviews and views.**_

_**Today finds the boys arriving back in Paris to a very difficult situation. ** _

CHAPTER 22

It was late afternoon on their fifth day when Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan approached the garrison. In the distance they could see a boy craning his neck as he looked in their direction; it was almost as if he were watching for them.

"Wasn't that Serge's kitchen boy who's just run back inside?" Aramis asked as the three horses walked slowly towards their home, partly because the animals were tired and partly out of due care towards the number of people wandering in the street.

"Yeah," Porthas replied. "Almost as if he's been on lookout for us because 'ere comes Serge almost at a run."

Disturbed, the three men dismounted and waited for a breathless Serge to reach them.

"Thank goodness you're back. It's all gone 'orribly wrong here!" He looked frantically from one to the other of them and even past them back along the road. "He said as 'ow you'd be bringing Captain Treville back with you. 'E promised you'd bring 'im back." The old man was as close to tears as they'd ever seen him.

"We didn't find him," Porthos announced simply.

"What's happened? Is Athos well?" d'Artagnan demanded.

Aramis signalled in the direction of his brothers to still all their questions and then laid a hand soothingly on the old cook's shoulder as he fought to maintain an air of serenity himself. "Calm yourself, Serge. What's gone wrong? Where is Athos?"

The old man's story spilled from him in a jumble of sentences. "He ain't Captain no more; they done took it away from 'im right after you left. Now Delacroix's in charge."

The outburst from the three musketeers was simultaneous and shocked but Serge, having begun his story, was not about to pause for breath. "He ain't no good. We all know that. He's rationed the food an' the men ain't been paid yet. They're getting' mighty angry and Athos tried talkin' to 'im about a whole heap o' things such as the food an' money an' searchin' for Cap'n Treville but he weren't 'avin' none of it. E's been givin' Athos double duties, all the dirty jobs. I know they've got to be done but the Captain an' Athos, when 'e was in charge, always made sure it weren't the same man doin' the same sort o' things every day. He's 'ad to do an inventory of the armoury, check and clean all the weapons an' muck out the stables.

"Some o' the men said as how it weren't fair an' I agree with'em. 'E was doin' the jobs on his own. They wanted to 'elp 'im out an' tried but Delacroix' friends put in an appearance to stop 'em. Yesterday, they threatened the men an' when it started getting' a bit ugly like, some o' the men got hit and pistols were fired in the air. It was Athos 'imself who stopped 'em, said 'e weren't 'avin' any of 'em getting' into trouble or hurt on his account. Made 'em step down an' go away, 'e did."

"So where is Athos now?" Aramis asked again as he and his friends exchanged worried glances about what they were hearing.

By now, Serge was frantic. "E's in the cell."

"What?" Porthos was incredulous.

"The old holding cell?" Aramis could not quite believe what he was hearing. "But that's not been used for …. I don't know how long!"

"Why? What's he supposed to have done?" d'Artagnan demanded. In all the time he had been at the garrison, he had never known of anyone being locked up in the holding cell and certainly not a musketeer. He had always been made to understand that it was only used for storage these days.

"'E was found blind drunk in the stables while 'e was on duty," Serge explained.

"I don't believe I'm hearin' this," Porthos' anger was mounting by the second.

"He wouldn't be drunk on duty," objected d'Artagnan and looked round desperately at Aramis and Porthos, as if seeking their support. The three had known him to have a foul hangover on occasions but it had never been debilitating enough to prevent him from doing his expected work.

"I saw 'im when they dragged 'im out the stables. He couldn't even stand up," Serge continued. "I ain't seen 'im that bad for a long while."

"And never on duty,"d'Artagnan persisted.

"How long is he in there?" Aramis changed the subject, worried now about the length of the incarceration.

"Until he's sober and then …" Serge's voice trailed off, suggesting that there was worse to come.

"And then what?" Porthos rounded on him, enunciating each word carefully.

"He's goin' to be flogged – twenty lashes."

"They can't!" d'Artagnan exclaimed. "Treville's never had a man flogged that I know."

"Definitely not," Aramis concurred. "He would never have to use that as a punishment. What on earth is Delacroix thinking?"

"We need to see Athos. Find out what's goin' on," Porthos determined and marched towards the archway, leading his horse. The others quickly followed and handed the reins over to the waiting stable boys as they entered the yard. Porthos hardly missed a stride as he continued on towards the holding cell, the other two falling into step beside him.

So incensed was the big man that he ignored the guard on duty and grabbed the cell door handle, rattling it furiously. It was a foolish notion to expect it to be unlocked. "Open it," he ordered.

"You can't go in there," the musketeer objected.

"Just try and stop us," Porthos hissed, closing in on the man and towering above him, deliberately attempting to intimidate him. It worked!

"Just one of you then. You can't all go in there." Bernard almost squeaked his insistence, knowing full well that there was nothing he could do to stop any of the men from gaining access to their friend short of running them through with a sword or shooting them and he feared that he would not even have the opportunity to do that.

"All right, one of us," d'Artagnan agreed.

"You then," Porthos insisted, looking at Aramis. "Just in case he needs some help."

Aramis nodded and waited for Bernard to unlock the door. The guard pulled it open, gritting his teeth to the creak of the hinges, testament to the fact that the cell had not been used for a long while. He looked around nervously, hoping that no-one would be witness to what he was doing other than the three angry men surrounding him.

With the door fully open allowing the maximum amount of light to break the gloom, Aramis entered to find the slumped figure sitting on the ground against the far wall. He took a sharp intake of breath as he noticed that his friend wore ankle chains that were fastened to the wall. Were they expecting him to attempt an escape? With head bowed, Athos did not give any indication of having heard him enter until he spoke his name.

"Athos?" Aramis dropped to his knees in front of his friend and reached out, stopping when he saw the state of the other man. His linen shirt was filthy, more so than would have been expected even from mucking out stables and the front, heavily stained red, reeked of wine. "Athos, look at me." The authoritative tone in his voice brooked no nonsense and Athos obeyed, his head coming up slowly and seemingly too heavy for his neck. He struggled to focus, his eyes rolling uncontrollably.

Aramis muttered an oath under his breath and held Athos' lolling head in his steadying hands. "Look at me," he repeated, "if you can." He watched, his brow furrowing in concern as Athos tried hard to concentrate on the source of the familiar voice.

"A'mis?" he slurred.

"Yes, I'm here. How on earth did you get yourself into this state? What were you thinking?"

"Don't know." The answer was barely intelligible as Athos shrugged dismissively.

Aramis looked again at the soiled shirt front. "Have you been sick?" If he had, he had only brought up liquid; heaven only knew when he had last eaten a meal. Admittedly it lacked the rank odour of stale vomit but it did smell of cheap wine; something Athos would only imbibe if there was no other choice.

Athos' eyes narrowed as he thought hard. "Not yet," he responded at last.

"You planning on it?"

"Prob'ly."

"Thanks for the warning! How much have you drunk?"

"Don't know."

"Where did you get hold of the wine?"

"Don't know."

"You've never been like this whilst on duty. What happened? What was going through your mind? Why did you do it?"

It was too many questions and Athos' alcohol-befuddled brain couldn't cope. He fought to have any recollection of his recent hours. "Don't know," he repeated, shaking his head and immediately regretting it. He moaned and put his hand up to touch the back of his head. "Ow," he proclaimed loudly, alerting Aramis. "My head hurts."

"I expect it does," Aramis retorted.

"No," Athos protested. "It hurts," as if that comment explained everything but there was something in his insistence that was concerning.

"Let me feel," and Aramis inched forward, running his hands through Athos' hair and lightly feeling the scalp. He located the large lump beneath the skin just as Athos groaned at the touch. "What did you do? How did you hurt yourself?"

Back came the familiar response. "Don't know."

"Well did you fall? In the stable perhaps? Did you knock yourself out?"

"Don't know."

"Let me have a closer look; see if you've broken the skin. Put your head forward." As Athos bent his head and groaned again because the ground tilted alarmingly, Aramis parted his hair, gently felt for the swelling again and reassured himself that there was no blood.

"You'll be pleased to know that you won't be bleeding to death today," he quipped, "but I need you to think about how you hit your head. Focus; open your eyes properly and look straight at me," he insisted. Had he not been so worried inwardly, he might have been amused by Athos' futile attempt to obey instructions, his green eyes narrowing and widening in turns as he desperately attempted to bring Aramis into focus. "Hold your head still," Aramis ordered, his hands helpfully cupping the clammy cheeks again as he tried to study the pupils in his friend's eyes, displeased by what he found.

"You have no recollection of hitting your head?" he tried once more.

"Don't know," was the repetitive response. Athos raised a hand again to his head and as he did so, the long, loose cuff of his shirt fell back to reveal an angry red line around his wrist. Aramis caught his hand and held it for a closer look before grabbing the other lower arm and discovering a similar welt.

"What're these? How did you get these marks?" Even as he asked the questions, he saw the distinct puzzlement cross Athos' face and he knew what the answer would be. "Let me guess, you don't know."

Athos blinked owlishly. "I don't know," he repeated as if he hadn't heard Aramis at all. His head dropped forward and Aramis cupped the back of his neck.

"For someone who is supposed to be intelligent, you do not know very much today, my friend," he said softly. He was unable to pursue the matter any further as raised voices in a heated argument drifted through the open doorway; Porthos sounded _very_ angry. A figure suddenly appeared in the entrance to the cell.

"Get out of there. You have no right to be in there conversing with the prisoner." Delacroix was beside himself with anger, his face red with indignation at the perceived effrontery.

Aramis leapt to his feet and within two strides was sizing up to Delacroix, so close that their doublets touched. "Conversing with the prisoner?" In his fury, his voice was low, ominous, almost as if he were deliberately emulating the usual menace of the man who now sat on the floor in confused helplessness. "I can't 'converse' with him; he's beyond any sense." He moved forward and Delacroix took a step back, desperate to maintain some space between the two of them.

"I'm not surprised. He's shamefully drunk. I can't have a musketeer on duty in that state. I must make an example of him to the men; there is a strong message they can all take from this," Delacroix bleated.

"Can they indeed?" Porthos growled.

"And how did he get so drunk?" Aramis wanted to know.

"How does anyone get drunk?" Delacroix was derisive. "He brought alcohol into the stable, a shameful amount from the bottles we retrieved, and then proceeded to down them."

"You sure he wasn't knocked out by a blow to the head, tied up and the alcohol poured down his throat?" Aramis asked.

"You what?" Porthos was beside himself with anger at what he had just heard. Aramis would not have levelled such an accusation against Delacroix if he had not been sure.

"I don't know what you mean," the Captain tried to feign innocence but his voice and expression said otherwise.

"I'm thinking about the lump on the back of his head," Aramis clarified.

"He must have fallen and hit his head," Delacroix insisted.

"Then there are the rope burns to his wrists," Aramis went on.

"He was unco-operative when he was first found in the stables. I believe the men had to bind him to restrain him."

"The men being ..?" d'Artagnan wanted them identified; he was sure that he and the other two would want the opportunity of a follow-up conversation with those responsible for what had happened to Athos.

"I'm not sure," Delacroix began, refraining from naming those who had carried out his orders. D'Artagnan was not bothered; Serge had already said that he had witnessed Athos being dragged from the stable so he would be both able and prepared to put names to faces for them.

"Oh I see," Aramis continued, his tone indicating that he did not see any justification for the treatment at all. "So now you've got him chained at the ankles because you believe he is going to try to escape. I'm merely making an observation, that's all." Without looking, he put out a steadying hand to halt Porthos' progress as he had moved towards Delacroix threateningly. The tension in the big man's arms indicated that he was struggling to keep his temper under control as each new utterance confirmed more mistreatment of his brother.

"Prisoners are usually chained," Delacroix said defensively and glanced apprehensively at Porthos as he snorted dismissively.

"Absolute necessity in a small cell in a musketeer garrison when there is a guard at the door," d'Artagnan added. Delacroix ignored him.

"Let me take him to the infirmary or his own room for tonight to keep an eye on him. I do not think his reaction is solely the result of alcohol; I think he is concussed as well," Aramis asked.

"Absolutely not," came back the definitive answer. "He is to remain in the cell and will receive no privileges."

"Then let me stay out here with him," Aramis insisted but the answer was again negative. "You are wanting to punish him further but you won't get the chance to do that if he chokes to death on his own vomit during the night."

Delacroix thought for a moment. "You may stop by and check on him every two hours if you so desire."

Aramis was dissatisfied. "A man can choke many times over in two hours."

"Take it or leave it," Delacroix said dismissively.

"It's better than nothing," Aramis conceded, his mind already racing as to how he could possibly check on Athos more frequently to safeguard him. "I will see him now," and he turned on his heel and re-entered the cell.

"Serge tells us you are going to flog Athos tomorrow," d'Artagnan stated, hoping that the cook had misunderstood.

"Indeed. I am hardly going to do it now when he is roaring drunk. He must have time to sober up," Delacroix explained.

"But you have him locked up!" the young musketeer objected.

"That is not the punishment for his insubordination," the Captain pointed out.

"I thought he was being punished for being drunk on duty," Porthos was confused.

"That too," Delacroix explained. "You have been out of Paris for several days and understandably unaware of what has transpired here. Since being removed from command, your friend has persisted in questioning my decisions and orders, constantly challenging my authority and the way in which I have chosen to do things. He is a disruptive influence amongst the ranks, fomenting dissension. I cannot allow such insubordination to go unchecked. Today he compounds his misdeeds with his drunkenness, culminating in dereliction of duty."

"Dere ….! He was cleaning out the stables!" d'Artagnan insisted.

"That was his assigned duty for the day. Failure to complete it for any reason is, by definition, a dereliction of that said duty," Delacroix responded.

"This is madness!" Porthos shouted, launching himself at Delacroix. His forward motion was suddenly stopped as d'Artagnan caught his arm and held him back. "You can't do this!" he objected.

"You forget yourself, both of you," Delacroix spat. "It is incumbent upon me to maintain discipline within the regiment and I decide what the punishment is."

"Treville managed to 'maintain discipline' without resorting to the flogging of any of the men," d'Artagnan reasoned.

"Maintained discipline?" Delacroix's voice rose. "If he'd disciplined you four more often, the regiment wouldn't be the laughing stock of Paris and ridiculed by the Red Guard."

"Who says we're the laughing stock?" Porthos was incensed. He would take chastisement in his stride were it warranted but for unfair and unfounded accusations to be made demanded that they be challenged.

Some six inches shorter, Delacriox would normally have been cowed by the ire of the big man but the new position gave him a new-found confidence and arrogance and he stood his ground. "This conversation is over. Today Athos sobers up and tomorrow he receives his punishment."


	23. Chapter 23

_**Oh my goodness, I am a little worried about uploading this chapter after the reviews and strong concerns you have expressed about Athos! Thank you so much for the feedback for yesterday's chapter; I was bowled over by your comments and intrigued at some suggestions. I'm hoping to post tomorrow but if I do, it'll be a short chapter (real life interrupting - am in an . society and the play I'm in opened last night!)and ch 24 isn't complete to my satisfaction yet!**_

CHAPTER 23

The musketeers who were not on duty elsewhere had gathered as ordered in the courtyard; even the kitchen staff, under the leadership of old Serge, crowded in the doorway of their domain to be attendant on the punishment as bidden. The atmosphere was tangible. When the sanction had been announced, there had been a mixture of stunned silence and muted outrage but the one thing that could not be disputed was the utter disbelief. Athos commanded respect from a large number of his brothers and his replacement by Delacroix had been a shock in itself that had quickly been replaced, first by regret and then by simmering bitterness.

Now they watched as he was dragged out to face his sentence, arms secured behind him and held fast by Garris and Maline who, as known supporters of Delacroix, appeared to revel in their new-found authority. Athos stumbled and they hauled him upright, devoid of any care. Recovering his footing, he took a deep breath and drew himself up to his full height, determined to muster and maintain some dignity. He focused on the path cleared between the ranks of musketeers, desperate not to make eye contact with anyone but at the last, movement to his right distracted him and he saw his three friends elbow their way to the front, worry on their faces as they tried to communicate silent support.

"They've gone and tied him up," Porthos growled. "What do they reckon he's going to do? This can't be happenin'." He made to move forward but once more Aramis laid a restraining hand upon his arm.

"Don't," he said sorrowfully. "We must not make this any more difficult for him by creating a scene. Our objections have already fallen upon deaf ears."

"Maybe we didn't object in the right way," Porthos said ominously. Blinded by anger and a sense of overwhelming helplessness, all he knew was that his brother was going to be subjected to a humiliating, excruciatingly painful and unjustified punishment.

D'Artagnan let out a low groan. "I don't think I can watch this."

Porthos' head snapped round. "With what he's about to go through shortly, the least we can do is watch. 'E knows we're here, that we're supportin' him. We're here for Athos, no-one else."

Chastised, d'Artagnan voiced another question that was bothering him. "Do you think they'll let us take care of him, you know ... when they've finished with ..?" He couldn't bring himself to say the words 'the flogging' aloud.

"I do not see any reason as to why Delacroix would deny us that for the punishment would have been meted out. There is nothing else to be gained by withholding care and Athos will certainly require that. To that end, I have laid things ready in the infirmary," Aramis explained gently.

It had been a long night as he had kept his word and visited the holding cell at regular two-hourly intervals. Athos had slept intermittently, sitting propped against the wall. When daylight had finally arrived, Aramis was given permission to remain with his friend until it was time for the punishment. He had brought him water to clean himself up from the dirt of the stables and cell and the sickness that had struck in the early hours of the morning. Athos had asked for a fresh shirt and raked his fingers through his hair to tame its unruliness. Breakfast was delivered – dried bread and water; he had sipped at the water but discarded the bread. They then sat and talked quietly as he battled his hangover, the pounding headache gradually abating only to be replaced by a fearful tension that spread through his body if he dared to think about what was to come.

As the time passed and he composed himself, it was inevitable that memories began to emerge and he was able to confirm for Aramis what had actually happened in the stable. It was also inevitable that, as sobriety returned, he would ask the one question that Aramis prayed he would not ask for he did not want to have to answer it before Athos was led out to be flogged. Gently, he had explained that they had found no sign of the missing men and recounted the conversation with Father Benedict, sharing with him what had come to mean so much to the three who had visited the monastery. Expressionless, Athos had lapsed into silence and had not uttered another word. When Faron had appeared to tell Aramis that it was time to go, he had laid a hand on Athos' shoulder trying to impart some comfort, unable to find apt words. Athos had looked at him and merely nodded in mute understanding.

Now D'Artagnan groaned as the party stopped short at the whipping post that had been driven into the ground in readiness. The two guards deftly undid the rope that bound Athos and roughly pulled his wrists upwards to secure them by leather straps to a hook set into the post higher than his head. Minus his doublet, his untucked linen shirt fluttered in the light breeze of the late afternoon.

Mutterings broke out within the ranks and wary, hostile eyes turned in Delacroix's direction as he emerged from his office and took up his now customary position on the balcony from where he could survey proceedings. It had not gone unnoticed by many that he chose his moments to descend amongst the men and this was not one of them, ill-will towards him being so strong.

The two musketeers who had secured Athos to the whipping post moved backwards to be replaced by Bertram who looked at Delacroix for direction. A slight dip of the head was all it took. With a slash of his dagger, Bertram cut into the fabric of Athos shirt and ripped it from his torso and arms, discarding it in the dust. He extended his right hand behind him, and waited for another musketeer to slap the whip into his palm; all the while his eyes fixed on the smooth, unblemished skin of the man before him and he dwelt on the task ahead.

Athos listened to the noises around him, each heightened but still distinguishable as he readied himself for the first bite of the whip into his flesh. His breathing sounded loud and fast and he counted slowly in his head, forcing himself to control it, to inhale slowly, deeply, but he could not mask his fear in the trembling exhalation and a memory surged in his head of the time when he had faced the firing squad at the chatelet.

The mix of terror and shame on that day had nearly conspired to destroy him more effectively than the weapons would have done and he had cried out to the soldiers to get on with it and pull the triggers. Perhaps, given how his past continued to haunt him with guilt over his wife and brother, death would have brought a sense of justice and a merciful release but then there had come Aramis' frantic order, halting the execution, and his softer words of rebuke to him for being in such a hurry to die. In the days that followed, Athos had regularly drunk himself into oblivion but no peace had come, save in the gentle ministering of his brothers as they ensured that he reached his bed safely, fed him water after wretched bouts of vomiting had threatened to turn him inside out and the ensuing headaches strove to drive him crazy. His already dark mood had sunk into black despair and he believed he had reached his lowest point for several years – until he had discovered that _she _was still alive.

So much had happened in the subsequent months whilst he discovered the depths of her depravity and machinations as Richelieu's agent. Now he could not remember the weeks that had passed since the plot to entrap her, the plot where he had shot d'Artagnan and then feigned death in order to ensnare her. When it had come to it, he had spared her life, ordering her to leave France and never to return to Paris. He thought that he was saving himself but from what and for what? She still pervaded his waking moments daily, although not quite so frequently; Treville was missing – believed by many to be dead – and his own reputation was in tatters, not unlike the remnants of the shirt at his feet.

That thought rooted him in the present. The flogging would commence any second and he steeled himself for the first blow. His fingers wound round the leather straps that held him fast and he focused upon the wood of the post in front of his eyes: the rough grain, dark knot-holes and the jagged splinters that jutted from the poorly hewn wood. One particularly fierce splinter fascinated him and he was sorely tempted to skewer his wrist on its mocking point, wondering if the resulting pain would override the agony of the whip. He stopped himself from laughing aloud at the thought, aware that the preposterous idea bordered on the hysterical and he would allow no man – not least Delacroix – to see any crack of weakness in him. He ground his teeth together, resolved to make as little noise as possible and equally determined to give Delacroix little satisfaction.

The first crack of the whip elicited a sharp gasp of surprise from him but no cry; the second drew blood and his body tensed; the third made the sweat break on his brow and the fourth the tears to start in his eyes; by the eighth, he could no longer tell where the whip landed because his back was an explosion of agony from shoulder blades to waist; struck the tenth time, he collapsed against the post, oblivious to the vicious splinter that embedded itself in his chest; the eleventh caused him to bite through his lower lip, the blood trickling down his chin; by the twelfth, he had lost count of the blows; on the thirteenth, he had to remind himself to breathe; with the fifteenth, his pain-fogged mind was reeling, his body was in shock and the world nauseatingly spun in and out of focus as he struggled to maintain consciousness. When the final blow fell, his legs buckled and he would have hit the ground were it not for the ropes at his wrists. The jolt that stopped his downward descent tore at his shoulders and he stifled a sob as his head fell forward on his chest, suddenly too heavy for his body.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Time passed but Athos had no idea just how much. He was vaguely aware of movement around him, gentle hands supporting him as the straps binding him were cut and his arms fell limp. Lowered to his knees, he felt hands on his upper arms. Voices soft, encouraging and vaguely familiar mingled around him although he could not determine what they were saying. Hands cupped his face, holding his head steady and he fought to open his eyes and focus on the figure before him. He attempted a lop-sided grin.

"Porthos," he croaked in recognition before his vision doubled again.

"The very same. Now you stay with me. We've got you; Aramis, d'Artagnan and me," Porthos said, still holding Athos' head. "We need to get you inside so Aramis can help you." Hands grasped him under the armpits and eased him to his feet but his legs would not obey the messages of his brain to walk. He had been injured before; knew well the suffering of taking a musket ball and the agony of a sword cut but nothing in his memory compared with the torture he endured now, his whole torso aflame with pain. Would that he could pray, for he would be begging a higher power for release in unconsciousness. Someone gripped his hand and pulled him over a shoulder that was braced against his hip and suddenly his world turned upside down. Long strides covered the ground towards the infirmary; swift, long strides that gave a curious rolling sensation through his body like a feeling of severe seasickness. He swallowed hard.

They were inside the infirmary and he was set down on his feet, swaying unsteadily. Both Porthos and d'Artagnan held him by the arms to prevent him from falling.

Aramis was already at a side table, pouring water from a jug into a bowl. "Sit him on the table; I need to get that splinter out first."

Atghos was lowered to sit on the edge of the table but the pain was so intense, he did not know how to keep himself upright. Had it not been for Porthos' steadying hands, he felt sure he would pitch forward onto the floor. He was vaguely aware of Aramis moving to stand in front of him, dabbing gently at the blood that trickled down his chest but he was so consumed by an overwhelming agony that he failed to register the separate discomfort of the large and deeply embedded splinter being withdrawn. More patting at the spot followed with his friends speaking words of comfort to him but he did not hear. Then more hands reached for him, turning him and lowering him on to the table on his stomach.

Porthos rested a hand on Athos' head reassuringly and watched as Aramis checked that he had all he needed. "Ready?" he asked simply.

Aramis turned troubled eyes on him and then glanced down at the bloody, scored back and visibly shuddered at what he had to do to treat his friend. "As ready as I'll ever be. Try and keep him still," he added unnecessarily.

D'Artagnan, already troubled by what he had witnessed and the injuries that had been inflicted on the other man, felt superfluous and wondered how he could best help. He made to move to where Athos lay face down, head resting on his left forearm.

"D'Artagnan!" The warning note in Aramis' voice was clear and immediately drew the young Gascon's attention. As he glanced in Aramis' direction, he could not miss the slight shake of the head.

"I thought I would ...," he began to explain, his voice faltering as he saw only a frightening seriousness in the countenance of the other musketeer. All he was going to say was that he wanted to help Athos, even if that merely amounted to being within his line of vision to give him silent encouragement and support.

"No," Aramis said more forcefully. "Porthos knows what to do."

That one brief pronouncement brought d'Artagnan to an abrupt halt. Did Porthos do to Athos what had been done to him? A well-placed punch to the jaw designed to render the wounded man unconscious? D'Artagnan realised that although he thought he had seen Athos at his lowest point emotionally following the events with Milady de Winter and when he was drunkenly sated on wine, he had never actually seen him physically injured beyond a few scrapes and bruises. He really had no idea how his friend and mentor would react when hurt.

He turned at the sudden sound of the scraping of a chair across the floor. Porthos was dragging one into position at the head of the table and, as he sat himself down in front of Athos, he reached across to take the cloth proffered him by Aramis. Deft rotations of the wrist wound the material into a long, firm column.

"Open," he ordered simply and, to d'Artagnan's amazement, Athos immediately complied by opening his mouth to receive the twist of cloth, biting down on the central part whilst the ends extended beyond his chin.

D'Artagnan raised a quizzical eye in Aramis' direction.

"When he's hurt, he does his utmost not to make any sound ..."

"He didn't even while the flogging was happening," d'Artagnan realised.

"Exactly. No doubt he was determined not to let Delacroix see any signs of weakness but we have known him put his teeth through his lip to maintain that silence just a she did here, or bite into his tongue." He nodded his head to the way Athos was laying. "In that position I wouldn't put it past him to take a chunk out of his forearm." Aramis ignored d'Artagnan's gasp of horror and tried to give him a smile of encouragement. "Besides, I am going to need your help with this."

"We're ready." Porthos said softly. He had taken both Athos' hands in his own and leaned forward so that he was closer to the stricken man's eye line as he spoke to him. "Keep looking at me. Just focus on me and hang on tight," he urged. Athos nodded and closed his eyes briefly in taciturn acknowledgement.

Porthos and Aramis exchanged knowing glances and the latter dipped a small cloth into a bowl of cool water. He hesitated as his hand hovered above the lacerations that marked the skin between the shoulder blades and took a deep breath. As soon as the cloth came into contact with the raw wound, Athos' whole body tensed; he hissed through his clenched teeth and his grip on Porthos' hands tightened enough to make the big man wince in his turn.

The whole process was long, slow and unrelenting. ...

…

"How much longer?" Porthos asked quietly after some time had elapsed.

Aramis paused in what he was doing and straightened up, easing the ache in his back from bending over the prone form as a concerned frown furrowed his brow. "I've nearly finished cleaning the wounds but there's much to do before I can bandage him. Why?"

"I think we could do with a brief stop," Porthos said meaningfully, inclining his head in Athos' direction.

"How is he?" d'Artagnan asked, concerned by Porthos request.

"He's fine," Porthos said, a little too jovially and obviously telling an untruth. "It's just that the bones in my hands could do with a rest," and he eased them from Athos' deathlike grip, flexing his fingers as he tried to dispel the feeling of having them crushed. "We could do with some water to drink and a damp cloth for his face," he hinted to d'Artagnan. The young musketeer hastened to get what Porthos requested, glad to feel of more use as he first poured a goblet of cold water and then handed it over.

All the while, Athos lay with his head resting on his left forearm, eyes tightly shut and hot tears of agony trickling down his face. Porthos teased the cloth from between his teeth.

"Here, drink this. Just take a sip," Porthos instructed. Athos raised dull, lifeless eyes to Porthos and lifted his head slightly to put his lips to the goblet. "Sip it," Porthos repeated and exhaled in relief as Athos obeyed. Four sips later and Athos' head sank again in exhaustion. With a gentleness that belied his size and strength, Porthos wiped away the injured man's tears with his thumb. "Do what you have to do," he continued to Aramis.

"The wounds are too many and deep for a salve," and he picked up a brandy bottle, pulling the cork with ease. "Hopefully this will be enough to keep infection at bay. Hold him down," he ordered.

Porthos leaned in close to whisper in Athos' ear and rested one hand palm upwards on the table, smiling his encouragement as Athos clasped it again with both his hands. Porthos used his other arm to circle his injured brother's shoulder to brace him whilst at the same time, d'Artagnan leaned across the prone man's legs.

"Ready?" Porthos asked quietly.

Athos didn't initially respond, his face now buried in the crook of an arm and his body devoid of any reaction. Porthos tried to mask the alarm he was feeling; Athos had been far too quiet all the way through and yet he remained conscious. "Squeeze my hand to let me know you understand," Porthos insisted and was rewarded by a slight constricting pressure.

"Is he conscious?" Aramis asked quietly.

Porthos looked down at the patient just in time to see heavy lids flicker open to reveal pain-filled, dull and unfocused eyes and shook his head at the man's resilience.

"He's still with us," he affirmed.

Aramis sighed, chewed on his bottom lip in concentration and tipped the bottle. As the alcohol flowed, touched and seemingly burned into the raw and bloodied back, the first scream rent the air.

...

In the hour since the flogging, normal business had resumed, albeit reluctantly, in the garrison courtyard. A number of men had broken into pairs to practice sword skills but their spirit was not up to the task and lack of concentration led to mistakes that, in the field, would lead to serious injury at the very least and cost lives at worst. Onlookers grimaced and shouted perfunctory jibes for a wrong move but most were too disturbed by the events of the afternoon for there to be any heart in their comments so when the tormented screams emanated from the infirmary, they froze in their actions and looked as one towards the door through which the unnerving sounds erupted.

…

They had sat him once more on the edge of the table to bandage him. As Porthos also sat before him and held his body steady, he could feel Athos trembling beneath his hands. Aramis deftly wound the bandage round the hurt man's torso and d'Artagnan bathed his face and arms with cool, refreshing water. Then Aramis had prepared a pain relief and sleeping draught in the hope that it would give Athos some respite from the suffering he had endured. It had taken time to coax him to drink it - Aramis never seemed to produce a medicine that was palatable – but Porthos' firm yet persuasive efforts had prevailed and as he waited for the sleep-inducing draught to take effect, he held Athos still and watched his eyes grow heavy.

Eventually, Athos sagged forward, his forehead coming to rest against Porthos' shoulder, his body suddenly limp as irregular gasps gave way to soft, even breaths.

"He asleep?" Porthos asked, noting the change and the dead weight against him. D'Artagnan moved to where he could see and nodded.

"At last," Aramis said, his voice strangled and his face strained; he had not wanted to cause so much suffering and it pained him. "Help me settle him on the bed."

Whilst Aramis took Athos' legs, Porthos picked him up under the arms and d'Artagnan pulled back the blanket. Between them, they lay Athos on his side and pulled the blanket up to his chest. Porthos stroked damp tendrils of hair back from the injured man's face and frowned.

"He's warm," he noted.

"To be expected," Aramis reassured him. "His body has gone through serious trauma in the last few hours; it does not signify fever and is too soon or infection."

"Let's hope the alcohol will prevent that development," d'Artagnan said, the sound of Athos' screams uncomfortably fresh in his mind. He and Porthos watched as Aramis started bundling bloodstained cloths into a pile and, with the remaining fresh water, started to scrub down the table. The vigour of his actions made it clear he was shaken and upset by what he had had to do to help his brother and as he stretched to reach the farthest point of the table, Porthos stayed his hand with a touch and some advice.

"Don't be blaming yourself; you did what was needed. The wrong that is done is by the hand of Delacroix."

Aramis nodded his understanding. "I know but I cannot forget his screams ringing in my ears." He glanced towards where Athos lay, finally sleeping deeply. "We have to do something about Delacroix; this can't go on. He's putting Athos through hell."

"What are you suggesting?" d'Artagnan wondered.

"Honestly?"Aramis responded. "I don't know yet but I'm certainly thinking about it."

A knock sounded at the door and Porthos opened it to admit Serge carrying a tray bearing steaming bowls of stew, goblets and a jug of wine.

"When it went quiet, I thought you might be wanting something to eat," the cook announced as he put the tray on the damp wooden surface of the table and started to pour the drinks.

"You heard?" d'Artagnan asked, taking a goblet and raising it to his lips.

"Reckon half the garrison heard. Fair shook us to the core, it did," Serge straightened and passed a bowl and spoon to Porthos.

"He'll be mortified," Porthos said as he spooned a mouthful of stew into his mouth.

"What he don't know won't hurt him," asserted the cook as he looked past Porthos to the sleeping figure, "and he'll not hear it from me. The mood among the men is ugly tonight. A great wrong has been done to Athos and they'll not be putting it out of their minds so easily."

"They need to be calm and wait to see what tomorrow brings," Aramis warned. "The last thing Athos would want is division to come from this."

"Easier said than done," Serge announced. "Delacroix has done himself no favours this day. He'd be best to watch out."


	25. Chapter 25

_**A longer, somewhat reflective chapter for you all this afternoon and some background to Delacroix' animosity. My goodness, loads of you really do not like him, do you? I don't think this chapter is going to help either but it's an important step along the way so do bear with me. Please forgive any typos that occurred yesterday and in this; to my shame, my proof reading has not been as thorough as it should. Thank you to all who have brought the reviews to the cusp of 100; I can hardly believe it! **_

CHAPTER 25

The evening wore on and the three friends sat in the infirmary quietly talking about events as the fourth continued to sleep.

"Why is Delacroix engaged in this hate campaign against Athos?" d'Artagnan asked eventually, holding out his goblet for Porthos to refill it with wine. "I mean, I knew shortly after I arrived at the garrison that there was bad feeling there but I've never understood why and Athos has never said anything that might explain it."

Aramis and Porthos exchanged glances before the marksman took up the tale. "Delacroix was already a musketeer by the time Athos joined the regiment, having joined in its early days. He was the second son of a minor noble family and he wasn't prepared to earn his commission; he made no secret of the fact that his father had bought it outright from the King. It was clear from the outset that he had high thoughts of his own prowess …"

"And little has changed," Porthos interjected.

"Agreed," Aramis said. "He has always been a capable musketeer; that can't be denied, otherwise he wouldn't still be here today. He would have fallen in battle."

"Not sure I'm with you there," Porthos added. "He's scheming enough to find some way of getting out of danger. Look what happened at La Rochelle; he managed to get wounded the first day we saw action and was out of the fray for weeks. I wouldn't put it past him to have shot himself where it hurt but wouldn't be fatal."

"You really think he did that?" d'Artagnan's eyes widened in disbelief.

"No I don't think that," insisted Aramis, scowling at his friend's claim, "but it didn't sit well with him that Athos was singled out for brave conduct during that time."

"Well if Delacroix' was sitting out the fight, then he hardly had the chance to cover himself in glory, did he? He couldn't really complain," Porthos pointed out.

"What was Athos' brave conduct?" d'Artagnan asked, intrigued. "He's never mentioned it."

"He wouldn't," Aramis said, crossing the room to lay a hand against the sleeping man's cheek. Dissatisfied with what he found, he retrieved a cloth from a bowl of cold water, squeezed it out and gently wiped Athos' face. "But that's a story for another time and his for the telling." He resumed his seat.

"But Delacroix' bad feeling started before that," Porthos continued. "He thought he was the best musketeer at everything but most of us saw otherwise. He was arrogant, a braggart and had the makings of a bully even then. Most of us just chose to ignore 'im but Massart and Garris were the first to be taken in by 'im and gravitated to his side."

"And then Athos arrived," Aramis went on. "Treville paired him off with Delacroix for a number of exercises. They were fairly evenly matched on the sparring, especially if Athos was nursing a hangover but it was when they were at sword practice that the fun really started."

"That's when we got to see for ourselves just what Athos could do with a rapier in his hand," the awe in Porthos' voice was unmistakable. "Hours earlier he was probably just about able to stand but you'd never think that when you saw him against Delacroix. He was light on his feet, going circles round Delacroix; he was poetry in motion. Delacroix was working up a sweat and yet we could just tell that Athos wasn't even really trying. Made us all wonder what 'e could do with a rapier if 'e was stone cold sober. It was a chilllin' thought, I can tell you, and that beautiful skill, that natural talent is what got Delacroix so angry. We'd all stop what we were doin' just to watch a master at work. We never knew if Athos was goin' to disarm 'im, score a hit or even slice at Delacroix' clothing.

"Then one day, the fight took another turn. Athos arrived for sword drill completely sober. I remember it as if it was yesterday. Delacroix had been tauntin' 'im for days and 'e just took it, or so we thought. They faced each other, Delacroix with a stupid smirk on 'is face, and then there was Athos. 'E was expressionless until you saw 'is eyes. I never want to give 'im cause to look at me like that," his voice trailed off.

"What was he like?" d'Artagnan dared to ask. He thought he'd already been on the receiving end of a scathing Athos glance during training sessions when he was making silly errors so he could not even imagine an expression that would make even Porthos nervous.

"Those eyes of his were cold, so cold. He could've killed Delacroix so easily if he hadn't stayed icy calm. The skill 'e showed that day was on another level. We've seen it since in battle against an enemy but that day was the first inklin' of what he was truly capable of doin'. He scratched Delacroix and drew blood."

"Treville never let them practice together after that. He'd been watching from the balcony and could tell that, unlike Athos, Delacroix was losing his temper," Aramis explained, "and this was the final humiliation. He'd never been able to best Athos with the weapon and even he realised that up until then Athos was just toying with him but that day I think Delacroix got the fright of his life. He wasn't going to let him get away with it so the bullying started in earnest."

"Delacroix bullied Athos?" d'Artagnan interrupted.

"Tried to but it was still mainly verbal," Porthos elaborated.

"But what did Athos do about it?" d'Artagnan wanted to know. "He had to have done something." Even as he spoke, he realised that Delacroix was bullying and trying to intimidate Athos now and that his friend had been unable to take any action in response. Perhaps the same had applied then.

"He did nothing," Aramis said, a strangely sombre tone in his voice. "He just took it. I think the self-control he'd managed to hang onto in the sword fight was a reminder to him of just how close he'd come to teaching Delacroix a potentially fatal lesson. He didn't even respond in kind with the comments. I don't know whether or not he'd unnerved himself with what might have been or if he thought reciprocating was beneath him or even if it was because, when he joined us, he was at a very self-destructive stage but I couldn't help wonder if he thought he deserved whatever came his way."

"So when Treville suggested we take 'im under our wings, sort of, it was an easy thing to do and it kept Delacroix at bay for a time," added Porthos, almost smugly.

"Delacroix saw Athos as a threat, especially when Athos began to win obvious favour with the Captain but instead of trying harder to improve himself and earn Treville's praise, Delacroix just blamed everything on Athos when it was unfounded. Delacroix was lazy and assumed every reward was his by right of birth; as far as he knew, Athos didn't have that same right."

"He was jealous," Porthos summarised, "and is probably even more resentful now he knows Athos' true title."

"And that's all it is? Envy?" d'Artagnan queried.

"Envy that's had nearly six years to eat away at him and fester," Aramis said. "Now it seems he's taking advantage of the situation to exact his revenge."

D'Artagnan looked over to where Athos lay unmoving, his breathing regular, his features relaxed and pain free at last. Without taking his eyes off his mentor he asked, "So what do we do to stop Delacroix?"

…..

The mood in the courtyard the next morning as the men mustered was surly and brooding. Discussion was almost non-existent and the majority of those gathered glared in the direction of the stairs, awaiting the Captain and wondering what the new day was going to bring.

Eventually he appeared, closely followed by Maline and Massart. He was immaculately dressed and seemingly oblivious to the antipathy directed towards him from the waiting men. Aramis, d'Artagnan and Porthos stood silently in place, each lost in their own thoughts.

D'Artagnan struggled to absorb the events of the previous two days. He, Porthos and Aramis had ridden into Paris already low in spirits following their fruitless search for Captain Treville only to find that situation at the garrison had deteriorated disastrously. They had left Athos in charge and returned to find him in chains and they were still none the wiser as to what had brought this about because he had either been incapable of enlightening them or had been locked up so they were kept away.

In the year that he had known the trio, d'Artagnan had seen firsthand the dangers they faced; Porthos had received a grievous wound to the shoulder and all had been bruised, grazed and the recipients of minor cuts at some point. He had seen the marks on pauldrons and doublets, worn almost as badges of honour, and the scars that marked the men's bodies; all were testament to previous battles, a stark reminder of the time before he knew them when they had survived only because of their skills and co-dependence.

He had spent many an evening in their company drinking wine before a roaring fire and listening spellbound as they recounted stories of prior conflicts and how each injury had been received. They laughed and made light of the situations, playing down the rescues, bedside vigils, the need for Aramis' medical knowledge and the overriding anxieties that each had felt. Even as he watched them and listened, they seemed to subconsciously draw closer together physically as the wine and stories flowed, the space between them on the benches diminishing as they leaned in towards each other, shoulders surreptitiously brushing together in a signal of brotherhood, a reminder to the world that they were a force to be reckoned with; hurt one and you hurt them all. D'Artagnan knew it was, by comparison, early days in his relationship with them and that they had drawn him into their exclusive group but he could not help wondering if he would ever have the closeness that these three men shared; it was something for which he longed.

He had watched Aramis and Porthos move smoothly into action as they ministered to Athos between them and he had felt helpless and emotionally drained. The man he admired so much and sought to emulate on so many levels had been brought low in a manner he had never thought possible. As soldiers, they knew the risks and that their lives could suddenly be cut short in battle, that they could be permanently damaged by horrendous injury. It had been hard enough seeing Porthos felled by a lucky blow to the shoulder months before but Aramis and Athos had remained unscathed – until yesterday – and it was not as if the hurts received had been at the hand of an enemy of France; they had been delivered by one of their own in a fit of spiteful vengeance.

The newest musketeer knew he would never forget the sight of the flogging, the vindictive delight evident on Delacroix' face and the crumpled, bleeding form of Athos hanging by his wrists from the whipping post. D'Artagnan had been an onlooker as Porthos had gathered up his damaged brother and eased him over one shoulder to carry him indoors, aware that it was not the most dignified of moves but mindful he could not bear the injured man in his arms because of the open wounds on his back.

There was no way that d'Artagnan could erase the subsequent hours from his mind; the manner in which Aramis had tenderly and methodically cleaned away the blood and dirt; the way Porthos held tight to his hurt friend whilst keeping up a never ending whispered encouragement. Although reflective and intensely private an individual, not least in his darkest hours of self-destructive drunkenness, Athos gave the impression of suppressed energy, a coiled spring ready to burst into controlled and carefully considered activity but that sense of vitality had been crushed the previous day. D'Artagnan would never forget the agonised screams that split the air when Aramis poured the alcohol over the raw wounds to stave off infection. Athos had lost any semblance of that measured self-discipline, giving voice to an unexpected yet understandable vulnerability and it had shaken d'Artagnan to his very soul, an unwelcome reminder of the other musketeer's mortality. Then, when the wounds had been dressed and Athos had succumbed to the sleeping draught that Aramis had given him, he had lain so unnaturally still. D'Artagnan could not recall a time when he had not seen Athos move for so long, his breathing shallow and his enforced sleep an eerie counterfeit of death.

Aramis was anxious. He wondered just what duties would be assigned to him and the others today and suspected that Delacroix would be awkward enough to send them offsite when all his medical understanding dictated that he wanted to stay in easy reach of Athos in order to check on him at regular intervals. He had not yet woken up and Aramis wanted to change the dressings. He had seen in the night that even without any movement from Athos, the wounds had continued to bleed slightly, staining the bandages which, by now, had dried and would probably have stuck to the lacerations and would need to be gently soaked first to aid removal. All that would take time and he doubted that Delacroix would allow them that luxury. He hoped he had done enough to ward off infection for if it were to take hold, the extent of open injuries would facilitate it spreading quickly.

Porthos was angry. That anger stemmed from Athos' sending him away to search for Treville and thereby leaving himself open to the scheming of Delacroix and the Cardinal. It fed his guilt that he had not been around when Athos had been initially attacked but even more so when he had not been able to save his friend from the whipping. His greatest anger was directed at the new commander; he wanted to grab hold of Delacroix and tear him limb from limb with his bare hands. That same anger metamorphosed into a fear for the future of the regiment, their immediate group and, more importantly, for Athos himself. What would Delacroix inflict upon him next? Porthos was not to know that he would soon be enlightened.

Delacroix cleared his throat and began to speak. "Good morning. With yesterday's event now a thing of the past, we need to move on but I want it clearly understood that any man not fulfilling what is required of him or working for the unity of the regiment will be punished, severely if need be. You all witnessed that yesterday."

Porthos growled, his face almost feral as he heard the slight against his friend. How could anyone think that Athos did not work towards the unity of the regiment? He hardly listened any more as the duties were assigned for the day, catching his own name by accident and noting that he was expected to drill the recruits in sword practice.

Aramis had been partially correct. He was to remain in the vicinity but he was tasked with musket practice with the men so they would move to an outlying open space, precluding any easy visits to his injured brother. D'Artagnan was to ride with two other men carrying missives to several destinations, thus removing him from the garrison for many hours, a prospect that filled him with dread for he wanted to remain close and see for himself that Athos was recovering.

In effect, the _Inseparables _were separated.

Porthos was brought from his reverie as he realised that a significant number of the men were being dismissed, d'Artagnan amongst them.

"Look after Athos," he whispered to his friends as he nodded his farewell and departed.

The other two remained in position as the Captain approached them.

"One of your number is missing," he said pointedly. Aramis and Porthos did not think the observation warranted a comment. "Where is he?"

Porthos' eyes widened in disbelief. "You even have to ask that question?" he said, trying to maintain a tone of reluctant civility in his voice.

"Obviously. He has missed the morning muster and I certainly do not know his whereabouts and so I ask you again. Where is he?"

"He is recovering after what you did to him yesterday," Porthos spat out, his shortlived attempt at courtesy rapidly dissipating.

"That was yesterday," Delacroix said coldy. "Today is a new day and he is expected on duty at the palace. Get him here now," he ordered.

Aramis was shocked. "He is in no fit state to undertake any duty anywhere, not for a few days at the very least. His body went through a terrible trauma yesterday. He's lost blood, is fighting infection and those lacerations are still too raw. I gave him the strongest sleeping draught I dared yesterday; he's not yet awake."

Delacroix moved closer to stand in front of Aramis. "You are not listening to me, soldier. I gave you a direct order. I give you ten minutes to get him up on his feet and ready to go on duty at the palace in the throne room. He will be under close scrutiny by the King and Cardinal, the first time he will have come into their presence since being removed from command. Woe betide him if he lets down himself or this regiment."


	26. Chapter 26

_**I am so grateful to all of you who have been posting reviews that have now, staggeringly, have reached the three figures. I can't begin to explain what that means but I'm glad you're enjoying the story. Today is a short chapter falling between the much longer one yesterday and the one tomorrow (where we find out if Athos is sent on palace duty or not)- I didn't manage my breaks very well, sorry. **_

CHAPTER 26

If Aramis thought that he could awaken Athos by flinging open the infirmary door with such force that it crashed back against the wall, he was much mistaken. Shouting his friend's name also proved to have little effect and he fell to his knees by the cot, firstly grabbing Athos by the shoulders and shaking him vigorously and then slapping his cheeks with a little more vehemence than he would have done under other circumstances.

"Athos, wake up. Come on. Open your eyes. You have to wake up." He repeated his plea with more urgency, almost grinding out the words from between gritted teeth. The only sign of life was a muted groan and a half-hearted fluttering of eyelashes before Athos settled back into sleep once more. "No, Athos, don't do this. You must wake up now."

Porthos burst through the open door way, carrying clothing and weapons that he had collected from Athos' room. "I thought you were waking him up," he commented, setting the things he had brought down on the table.

"What do you think I've been trying to do?" Aramis could not keep the frustration from his voice. "He's deeply asleep but I thought that draught would have started to wear off by now."

"How much of that stuff did you give him last night? He's slept for over twelve hours," Porthos demanded.

Aramis stood up and rounded on him. "I gave him the strongest dose I dared. He was in agony and needed some release."

Porthos' stern look softened. "I know why you did what you did but that doesn't help him or us right now. We have a little over five minutes to get him on his feet and out to the yard. As far as I'm concerned, the worse he looks, the better. We both know he's not fit for duty; he'd know it if he only opened his eyes and Delacroix would have to accept that. So what do we do to wake him up?"

"Sit him up and dress him. I'll get some water," Aramis instructed.

Doing as he was bidden, Porthos pulled Athos up into a sitting position and was rewarded by a mumbled response as eyes reluctantly slit open. "Good morning," Porthos greeted him in a business- like fashion, keeping him sitting on the side of the bed by one steadying hand whilst the other reached for the discarded boots from the previous afternoon. Fortunately, they had left Athos clothed from the waist down and that would save them precious minutes. Porthos struggled with the boots getting them on the right feet and pulling them on when Athos was not co-operating by pushing his feet into them. His brain was still too slow in its response to the instructions being delivered to it.

He tried to pull away as Aramis scrubbed at his face with a cold, wet cloth, in the vain hope that the feel would awaken the man properly before combing fingers through the semi-conscious musketeer's tangled, unruly hair to restore some semblance of order. If Athos were to end up at the palace this day, he would not be presenting himself as the smartly turned out musketeer that usually was on duty. It was bound to be noticed, enough to raise eyebrows and cause questions to be asked. Perhaps it was one way to draw the royal couple's attention to the rule of tyranny that now existed within the confines of the garrison walls.

Athos was at last rallying but he was not happy about it and tried to push away the hands that attempted to get him ready.

"Arms up," Porthos said without thinking and Athos went to obey but the movement made him catch his breath as he failed to raise his arms even to his shoulders. Understanding, Porthos gathered up material and rapidly fed a clean shirt along his arms and over his head. "Stand up," he instructed, not waiting for Athos to obey of his own accord. Instead he helped him to his feet and set about tucking in the shirt.

Athos moaned and winced. "Bandages are stuck," he ground out.

"I'm sorry," Aramis said. "I wanted to change the dressings but we haven't got time. I'll do them as soon as I can - promise."

"Arms," Porthos succinctly ordered again and held out the leather doublet. As the weight of the garment touched his shoulders and back, Athos could not suppress a cry. With eyes squeezed shut, he breathed deeply, trying to control the pain. "Sorry," Porthos apologised as well.

Athos stood still, continuing to breathe hard as Porthos buckled the weapons belts round his waist, sheathed the rapier and affixed the other weapons with some hesitation, particularly the main gauche at Athos' back.

"Give me something for the pain," Athos ordered between gasps, eliciting a frown from his two friends. This was the man who shunned medication if he could help it and here he was almost begging for anything that might alleviate the pain that continued to wrack his body. Who would have thought the mere wearing of clothes could cause such anguish?

Aramis handed him another foul tasting liquid and, surprisingly, it was downed in one.

"You need to eat. Let me get you some bread to take with you," Aramis offered.

Athos shook his head. "I don't think it'd stay down."

Porthos chortled. "That'd be a first; throwin' up in the throne room," he said coarsely.

The prospect even drew a faint smile from Athos himself. "I rather thought I would try to go one better than your threat to faint on parade on a hot day, just for something to do." The comment earned a guffaw from the big musketeer.

Athos took his hat from Aramis and placed it firmly on his head. "How do I look?"

Aramis grimaced, "I could tell you the honest truth but I don't think you'd like it much."

"That good, huh?" Athos moved a couple of paces towards the door and swayed unsteadily; Porthos caught his arm. "Not an encouraging start," Athos murmured.

Porthos shook his head. "We get you out there, Delacroix sees you're not fit for anything and sends you back here within five minutes, you'll see."

"And if he doesn't?" Aramis asked pessimistically.

Athos looked seriously at his two brothers. "Then I continue to play him at his own game. He will not have the upper hand for much longer, of that I can assure you. All I ask is that you promise me one thing," and he waited for their nods of acquiescence.

When he spoke again, any remaining effect of the strong sleeping draught had entirely dissipated and there was no residual suggestion of pain. Instead his eyes and voice were cold, deadly and frighteningly menacing as he announced, "When the time comes, no-one else touches him. Delacroix is mine!"


	27. Chapter 27

_**Thank you so much for all the feedback for yesterday's chapter. People are obviously feeling very strongly about Delacroix; rest assured, I have plans for him! I've also taken on board some of the comments that have come through in the past couple of days and they have set me rethinking today about a chapter/event in the near future so some rewriting will be needed there! **_

_**I apologise in advance for the fact that there isn't much let up from the tension in this chapter either so brace yourselves!**_

CHAPTER 27

The three walked out into the early morning sunlight, their pace slower than usual as each step was a struggle for Athos. Every footfall sent a knife-like pain shooting the length of his back, not helped by the weight of his doublet and the bandages beneath his shirt aggravating the wounds by trying to pull free from the places where they had stuck. He found himself hoping that the herbal draught to reduce the pain would take effect sooner rather than later and that his light-headedness would likewise subside.

His momentary surge of energy and awareness when he resolved to seek justice for what he had endured at the hands of Delacroix had quickly waned and his movement grew increasingly lethargic across the yard. Aramis shot a worried sideways glance in his direction and noted the beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead and the unhealthy grey pallor of his skin. How could anyone think that the injured man was capable of standing for any length of time at the palace? He looked as if he were ready to keel over any second.

"You're late," a scathing voice cut through the morning air.

Athos halted, conscious of the unspoken support of his brothers as they stood close on either side of him. "I apologise for my tardiness," Athos said, his voice even, his face composed. "It is my fault entirely; I assumed erroneously that I would be spared duty to recover a little."

Porthos and Aramis glanced askance at him, wondering what would induce him seemingly to grovel to the Captain, especially after the way he had been treated. He refused to meet their gaze but as he stood to attention, they detected the defiance radiating from him and they realised that he was doing exactly what he had specified he would do only minutes earlier – he was playing the game, biding his time. They worried for him, though, and could not help but wonder if he had the requisite time and, more importantly, the fitness and strength to see things through to their conclusion.

"I apologise for my carelessness," Aramis spoke up immediately, deciding that he would play the game too. "It is my fault entirely; I gave Athos an exceedingly strong sleeping draught yesterday and it has taken time for it to wear off."

Athos gave him a strange look, curious as to what he was doing just as Porthos stepped forward and added his comment. "I apologise for my selfishness. It is my fault entirely; had I thought about Athos' situation a bit more, I would have made sure that he had been woken earlier to give him a chance to find out if he was fit for duty."

Already mounted, Delacroix looked down from his vantage point and studied the three men, trying to detect whether or not they were being disrespectful but they wore solemn expressions and there was no hint of provocation in their tones. He edged his horse forward in the direction of Athos who was determined to maintain his position but would have been knocked to the ground had not Porthos pulled him to one side.

"Mount up," Delacroix ordered. "You have kept us waiting long enough; we are in danger of being late for His Majesty and any criticism that may result will be down to you," Delacroix announced.

Aramis moved to the horse's side and looked up at the Captain. "You can't seriously expect him to go on duty? He's in pain and just about standing."

Delacroix pretended to examine Athos closely, "He looks fine to me. Does he look fine to you?" His question was directed at the other mounted musketeers behind him, a palace guard that primarily comprised his close-knot group. Naturally they all concurred, their responses predictable and their demeanour taunting.

"What are you tryin' to do? Kill 'im?" Porthos spat out, holding the horse's bridle and glaring up at the man who undeservedly bore the rank of captain and was incapable of behaving like one.

"Certainly not," Delacroix retorted. "Let go of that bridle, soldier, before you end up on report or worse."

"Worse? You want to start physically punishing me too? Not content with picking on Athos," Porthos was consumed by anger.

With difficulty, Athos manoeuvred himself between his friend and the horse. "Don't," he said softly to Porthos so that Delacroix had to lean forward in the saddle to hear his words. "Don't do this; don't get yourself into trouble for me."

"If I can't get myself into a bit of trouble on account of you, how can I call myself your friend?" Porthos asked just as softly. Athos seemed to crumple in on himself at the challenge of the response.

"Very touching," Delacroix said derisively. "I would love to stay and hear more but we are expected at the palace. If I could trouble you to mount up, your company is expected." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Bertram will be in charge whilst I meet with the King and Cardinal so you will obey his every instruction."

He moved his horse to the front of the line of musketeers to allow a stable boy to step forward, leading a saddled horse for Athos. In raising his arms to hold reins and saddle, Athos realised he did not have the strength to pull himself upwards; he suppressed a groan and rested his forehead against the cool leather.

"I need your help," he whispered, "please."

Porthos' face was a study in concern as he stepped forward, crouched and steepled his fingers together to brace and then boost Athos up into the saddle. "You still reckon you can do a full duty at the palace?" he asked quietly. The subsequent exchange was only for their ears.

"I don't know. If truth be told, probably not. I would much rather take to my bed, lie on my front and just sleep until all this is over but I have to try."

"Aramis and I aren't with you if you get into trouble."

"I understand, but I have the knowledge that you are not too far away, not like when you were gone from Paris. Just get me in this saddle." The noise he made as he put his booted left foot into Porthos' hands was akin to a whimper.

"On three," Porthos said and began to count, launching Athos into the saddle as he uttered the third number but as the injured man swung his right leg over the horse's back, he could not stop himself from crying aloud and he sat in the saddle, eyes shut and breathing hard, desperately wishing the pain would ease.

Porthos lay a hand on his leg. "Look at yourself. How will you dismount? Remount to come home even?"

Athos opened his eyes again and tried to reassure the big man. "Getting off is easier – I hope. I'll slide from the saddle and then I'll walk the animal home if need be. I have to do this, Porthos. I can't let him think he has won," and he urged the animal forward to fall into line behind the other musketeers who were filing out into the Paris street.

Porthos watched him go and felt rather than saw Aramis move to his side. "Athos, my friend, I fear Delacroix has already won."

…..

Duty at the palace in the throne room was a nightmare. As the Captain had pointed out, it was the first time Athos had been there since he had been removed from command. In the recent past, he had always stood close to Treville, quite literally the officer's 'right hand man' and near the royal couple. Now he was relegated to the end of the line, furthest from the King and Queen and closest to the door.

Whereas he had always taken some interest in what transpired as the King met with and heard appeals from courtiers and some of the French dignitaries from the farthest regions of the country, he was oblivious to them this day. If the monarch and Cardinal were scrutinising him at any time, he did not know it; he concentrated only on a spot on the wall ahead of him and imagined the line of muskets in the armoury, counting them in his head as he had done for real only a week before. Had so short a time really elapsed? It felt like much longer. When he reached the end of a rack in his mind's eye, he began again. He tried anything to distract himself from the sweat that persisted in running down his face and into his beard, mindful that he could not swipe at the annoyance whilst on duty, either at attention or at ease. Even more than that, he tried to ignore the uncomfortable trickling down his back of what he presumed was blood, the bandages having ripped free from the lacerations with the act of riding to the palace.

Minutes passed and became first one hour and then two. He was not sure how long they had actually been standing in the throne room but his mouth was dry, probably a combination of whatever it was Aramis had given him to drink earlier in the morning and the fact that he had not had much fluid or food of any sort over the past two days and his head was swimming. There was a certain irony in the situation; he was on guard but recognised that he would be utterly useless if any danger were to threaten the royal couple.

He gradually became aware of the room becoming emptier. Those who had received an audience with the King had been dismissed and all that remained were the royal couple in discussion with the Cardinal and the musketeers themselves. Eventually, the King and Queen rose to their feet to take their leave. Those remaining bowed in deference. Athos bit his lower lip as he bent low and stretched the torn skin on his back; it would not do to make a sound in the royal presence.

Straightening up, he was alarmed to see that Louis had taken it upon himself to pass down the line of musketeers, making comments to each. Then he reached Athos – and snubbed him. He scowled and turned away without saying a word. The Queen, on the other hand, paused before him, her beautiful features marred by her worried frown.

"Monsieur Athos, I have missed seeing you here. I cannot tell you how sorry I was to hear that your circumstances had changed."

He did not look at her but focused on a mark on the marble floor. "I thank your Majesty for your kind words."

"There is no news on Captain Treville, I understand," she persisted, her voice soft and soothing. Athos could fully appreciate why and how Aramis could love this woman.

"None, your Majesty. It is very disturbing."

"I agree. It is a very unsettling time for the regiment, not least for you and your friends." She pointedly did not mention Aramis by name. "You were often in the company of the Captain." She leaned forward a little, her head inclined away from the other people as if drawing him into a conspiracy. Her sultry voice dropped a little further. "I do not like some of the more recent, significant changes."

He dared to meet her gaze momentarily, "Neither do I, your Majesty."

"You do not seem yourself today. Are you well?" she asked.

"I am," he lied, "but thank you for your concern." She took a step back as if considering his response. She smiled and shook her head, obviously not believing him before turning and following the King from the room.

He was conscious of Delacroix watching him as well and then he pointedly spoke to Bertram in a low voice before he joined Richelieu and they exited together. Athos wondered what they were going off to plot together now.

Bertram was issuing orders. No longer required, the musketeers could head back to the garrison. Athos sighed to himself, partly pleased that he had made it through the duty without incident and also dreading the return journey, not actually sure which was the lesser of two evils – struggling into the saddle or walking the distance.

Suddenly Bertram materialised in front of him. "Not you," he said abruptly.

"What?" Athos realised that he had not been listening.

"Not you. You will not be going to the garrison just yet." Bertram was clearly delighted with his pronouncement.

"What do you mean? Why?" He was cross with himself because he could hear the rising desperation in his voice.

"You will remain here on duty until someone comes to tell you otherwise."

"Why am I being left to guard an empty room?" Athos asked incredulously.

"Still questioning orders, musketeer?" Bertram said coldly. "You don't seem to have learned yesterday's lesson, do you?"

"I have," Athos said quickly, a sense of pervading panic gripping him as he feared what might happen next. He knew he did not have the strength to endure much more. "Who will tell me? How long will I have to stay here?"

Bertram saw his discomfort and revelled in it. "That depends, doesn't it?" Gloating, he walked towards the door.

Athos kept his silence, seeing that it would not do to provoke one of Delacroix' sycophants. He just watched with a mounting sense of despair as Bertram disappeared through the main door and wondered how long he would have to remain guarding an empty room.

Alone, he began swaying on his feet. The herbal draught to kill the pain was wearing off and exhaustion was threatening to consume him even though he had slept for so long the previous night. Waves of nausea washed over him and he was confused as to whether it was the result of hunger or the pain that spread throughout his back. He was at the point where he did not know what to do with himself; even the cold marble floor looked welcoming and he toyed with the idea of lying down on it. He could not sit, the only available chairs were the thrones and nothing would induce him to collapse into one of those.

The spiteful order had come from Delacroix, of that he was certain. Musketeers would be positioned at strategic places in the building and grounds but never had someone been left guarding the empty throne room after an audience with the King. Athos thought back to what he had said to Aramis and Porthos earlier that morning, about playing Delacroix at his own game, but now he found that he was questioning himself and the wisdom of his words. Right now, he felt so ill and was in so much pain, he had had enough; he wanted to give up. If only it were that simple.


	28. Chapter 28

_**Thank you so much for all the reviews and comments. I love being able to respond to you and, to the guests, a huge 'thank you' for your thoughts and encouragement too. Events n the story posted over the past three days have certainly aroused passions! Things are definitely grim for Athos at present but this chapter will hopefully indicate that it is not plain sailing for Delacroix either now (I know many of you are dreaming up horrible things to do to him!) Perhaps the second half of this chapter will alleviate some of that tension!**_

_**I have to apologise though and forewarn you that I am going away for a long weekend and will not be able to post again until next Tuesday or Wednesday at the latest. I hope you'll forgive me!**_

_**Until then, enjoy ...**_

CHAPTER 28

As he left the throne room, Delacroix was a number of paces behind the Cardinal as they walked down a corridor. Wondering whether the Cardinal wanted to see him on any matter, he quickened his step to catch up with the First Minister but, as he rounded a corner, a hand grabbed his cloak and dragged him through an open doorway into a small room, causing him to stumble. As he recovered his balance, the door behind him was slammed shut and he spun round to see who had entrapped him.

"Cardinal," he greeted, somewhat obsequiously yet nervous that their meeting should begin in so hasty a fashion.

Richelieu was not an overly tall man but with his expansive black cloak, iron grey hair and chiselled bone structure, he was an intimidating figure as he stepped closer to the musketeer captain.

"What have you done?" he demanded.

"Done?" Delacroix was reminded of an earlier encounter when the Cardinal had almost squeezed the life breath out of him with one hand and was subsequently cautious.

"To the musketeer Athos. What have you done?" Richelieu asked again, although something in his manner convinced Delacroix that he already knew the answer.

"Why do you ask?" he stalled for time.

"Because one look at him today and even an idiot could see that all was not well with the man," Richelieu virtually spat out the words. It seemed, after all, like common sense to him. He had witnessed Athos on parade or guard duty so often at the palace and he had never appeared so dishevelled and distracted as he had done today.

"I had him flogged yesterday for insubordination and drunkenness on duty," Delacroix answered.

"I have known the man to have a severe hangover on duty but I have never known of him being drunk so I take it that he was given some help to achieve that state."

Delacroix smiled smugly at the success of his plan, thinking that the Cardinal would be impressed. "Help was certainly forthcoming," he said cryptically.

Richelieu raised a hand as if to strike the man in fury and then thought better of it, changing the move so that he wiped his hand over his own face. "Are you a fool?"

"I don't know what you mean?" Delacroix objected. "I did as you gave me leave to do and that was to make his life uncomfortable."

"Granted, but not to the extent that it is one of the causes of the unrest within the musketeer regiment. You don't seem to be handling anything very well, do you? Withholding wages. Rationing meat for the men."

Delacroix visibly paled, "How do you know this?"

"Wherever possible, I do not have just one informant."

The implication was clear and Delacroix's mind raced. So there was an informer on the informant! Someone was watching his every move and feeding back to the Cardinal. Who could it possibly be? His blood ran cold as he surmised that it was probably one of his so-called friends who had seen his rapid progress of late and wanted similar advantages. His close circle of men were the only ones privy to all his decision making and some of the reasons that lay behind them. The prospect of one of them turning traitorous and spying on him filled him with dread and suspicion. Whom could he trust? Suddenly he was discovering for himself that leadership could put one into a very lonely position.

"What else have you dreamed up in the short time you have had authority?" Richelieu probed.

"At one of our earlier meetings, before you arranged for me to be captain, you stated that you wanted to see the whole musketeer regiment disbanded, absorbed into the Red Guard. I have been considering that. If there is a rift in the regiment, it can grow; the wedge driven between the men will be their own undoing. They will not be able to stop your plans for them then."

Richelieu glared at him for several moments and then he smiled but it was without humour. "Perhaps I have underestimated you but tell me, have you found any trace of the documents about which I told you?"

Any chance of praise from the Cardinal was short-lived as Delacroix was forced to confess his failings. "Unfortunately, I have not found anything."

"Then you cannot have looked properly," came the accusation.

"I assure you that I have, Cardinal. I have torn the office apart, checking panelling, the cot mattress, even under the floorboards. I have been through every scrap of paper that bears Treville's hand and all those written by others. There is nothing of which you speak. I took his keys and searched through each place that could be locked and there is nothing within the garrison walls, I swear."

"Is there any reason to suspect that this …." Richelieu waved a hand in disdain, " this Athos removed anything of significance from the office during his brief tenure?"

"I don't think so but anything is possible."

"Then I suggest you search his lodgings as quickly as possible and do not discount his friends. He could have passed anything to them for safekeeping and they were close to the former captain too. However, there is still the matter of Treville's house in Paris; you would do well to start there as soon as possible."

"I will, Cardinal," and Delacroix bowed respectfully as Richelieu nodded his farewell, turned on his heel and headed for the door. Opening it, he paused and spoke without looking at Delacroix. "Perhaps you are not as stupid as you look," and with that he was gone.

…

In the Queen's chambers, Anne was striving to get comfortable. Her ladies in waiting sought to satisfy her every whim and to pre-empt what she might need. Impending motherhood gave her an undeniable bloom and gentleness of spirit but her expanding waistline was hampering movement and made this normally lithe, elegant young woman seem ungainly and awkward. She gave a little moan and rubbed the base of her back, stretching to ease her aching muscles. Immediately one of her ladies approached with a small, round cushion and placed it behind her in an effort to ease her discomfort. She smiled her thanks, sighed and wiped at her brow with a scented kerchief.

"It is so hot," she complained. "Bring me my fan," she instructed.

Straight away two of the young women began to search for the ornate ivory fan that had been a present from her husband but it could not be found.

"I must have dropped it in the throne room. I remember taking it there with me but do not recall seeing it since. Marianna," she called and a dark-haired woman approached. "Please return to the throne room and see if I left it there."

Marianna dipped in a curtsey and quickly departed.

Anne had taken up some sewing, a square of white linen in a round embroidery frame destined to be a token for the new baby, when Marianna returned, holding out the fan and seemingly perplexed.

"What is the matter?" asked the Queen, taking the proffered fan.

"Your Majesty, the musketeer you spoke to …" she left her sentence unfinished.

"Athos? What about him?" she asked.

"He remains in the throne room, guarding it, although he is entirely alone," Marianna explained.

"That is indeed strange," Anne commented.

"He does not seem to be at all well," the lady in waiting continued. "I fear he will collapse."

Anne considered her words and then struggled to her feet, the women around her rushing forward to assist her. She looked determinedly at them. "We will go and investigate."

Marianna's news was strange and a part of the Queen thought that the young woman must be mistaken but as two stewards opened the double doors to the throne room on her approach, she saw immediately the lone musketeer and knew that something was seriously wrong.

He did not react as she approached; indeed he did not even glance in her direction. Instead he swayed dangerously, jerking as he suddenly corrected his stance. Sweat sheened his face and his hair curled damply beneath the broad brimmed hat; the grey cast to his skin that was apparent earlier was now replaced by a deathly pallor and his breathing was little more than rapid panting as if his lungs were starved of air. Dark shadows smudged his eyes and pain was etched deeply into his features.

She stopped before him and he seemed to notice her for the first time.

"Your Majesty," he breathed and made to bow but the movement was difficult, causing him to gasp and stop before he had completed the deferential manoeuvre.

Anne dismissed protocol and laid a hand on his sleeve in apprehension. This was one of the two men who had been prepared to lay down their lives in order to keep her safe and she would never forget, _could_ never forget it when the child growing within her was a testament of that time. Now this man who had risked all in his service to the crown was in need himself and she was not about to ignore that.

"What are you doing here?" she inquired.

"I'm on guard duty," he explained succinctly.

She looked about her. "Since when does the King require musketeers to waste time guarding an empty throne room?"

"Since the new captain of the King's guard gave the order," came his response, knowing that the Queen would understand his comment and his opinion, given what she had said to him earlier. The effort sent pain lancing through his body and he grimaced.

"What is it, Athos?" she asked gently, hoping that he would confide in her so that she could give some help. "What is wrong? You are not well."

His eyes met hers and she saw that he fought to keep them open and focused; he blinked frequently. "Your Majesty should not be troubled about me. I repeat my thanks for your concern but you should not be here; it is better that you take your rest."

She smiled. "I will take my rest when I am assured that you are about yours. Let me offer assistance. I can see that you are ill or hurt and look as if you are about to fall down."

He pondered her words and took a deep breath before he answered, his voice little more than a weakening whisper, "Please, Your Majesty, leave me here alone. When I fall, I would prefer to fall in an empty room."

She studied him for a long moment, recognising his need to preserve some honour and dignity. She nodded her agreement and signalled for her womenfolk to follow her as she exited through a different door into an ante-chamber.

Once there, she stopped. "Bring me a chair and place it behind the door." She waited whilst the chair was brought by two of her waiting women. Another one made to shut the door. "No," she insisted as she settled into the seat, "it is to be left open. He will not let me be a witness but the musketeer will fall and I will hear him when he does. We will then render the assistance that he so obviously requires. Guillaume?" she called.

A young page came forward and bowed.

"Go to the musketeer garrison as quickly as you can and seek out Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan. Tell them their Queen demands that one or all of them attend on her immediately."

She watched as the boy set off at a run and then indicated to her ladies that they too should sit on the window seats or sofas that edged the room, although she did not think that they would have a long wait.

Inclining her head towards the half-open door and listening for any sound from the other room, she murmured softly, partly to herself and partly to the man within who kept a lonely vigil.

"Just a little longer, my dear Athos. Be strong for a little longer and then your friends will come for you."


	29. Chapter 29

_**Hello, everyone. MANY thanks for the wonderful comments since last week. Today's chapter (and tomorrow's) seems to have come from nowhere with a just a little bit being in the original plan. Then, suddenly, Porthos found his voice! I hope you enjoy it.**_

CHAPTER 29

Both Porthos and Aramis had finished their morning training sessions and were taking advantage of an early lunch to reflect on what had been happening over the preceding days since their return to Paris.

"I can't believe Delacroix would sink so low as to behave the way he has towards Athos," Aramis mused.

"He's making the most of being captain; 'e must think he's untouchable especially if 'e thinks 'e has the backing of Richelieu," Porthos said, angrily pushing his food around the plate with a piece of bread.

"He's been waiting years for just such an opportunity. He's not likely to let it go to waste. The trouble is, we have to find some way of stopping him. Delacroix' revenge is getting more serious with each passing day and I'm not sure just how much more Athos can take, either physically or mentally. Every man has his breaking point, even Athos."

"We haven't done our job very well, have we?"Porthos noted miserably. "We were supposed to be looking out for 'im and yet all this has 'appened to 'im. We've got to find a way to stop Delacroix."

"Easier said than done when he has a large group of favourites surrounding him and ready to jump to his every command. We're outnumbered. There are only three of us to protect Athos and Delacroix is obviously intent upon keeping us separated if today has been anything to go by. He's going to keep Athos isolated as much as possible."

"Then maybe it's about time we evened the odds," Porthos said savagely.

"What do you mean?" It was as if a cold hand touched Aramis as he saw his friend's expression and heard the tone of poorly suppressed resentment.

"I'm meaning we get numbers on our side. There's plenty here that would be more than ready to help. They're not happy with Delacroix' treatment of them or Athos. They're just looking for a chance to have their voices heard."

"Looking for a fight, more like." Aramis leaned in, his next words little more than a harshly whispered warning. "Whatever is going through your head, Porthos, ends right here, right now. When you mention 'sides', you're talking of revolt and that could end in court martial at best with execution at worst. How many men could be injured or lost? Athos would never sanction an action like that."

Porthos likewise lowered his voice. "You reckon Athos is in a fit state to sanction anything right now? We're assuming things are well with 'im only because he hasn't been brought back here in the bed of a cart. Are you saying that we just stand by and wait for Delacroix to kill 'im?"

"Of course I'm not saying that but we don't know Delacroix has that intention. He has had opportunity before now to make a move with fatal consequences."

"And maybe,"Porthos said slowly and deliberately, "it's only by luck that he hasn't been successful. You said yourself his actions are gettin' more serious; who's to say that his next decision wouldn't end up with Athos dead by 'accident'? I'm sorry but I'm not goin' to stand by an' wait for that possibility to become a probability."

"I don't want to do that either but I just don't think that what you're proposing is the best way to go about it," Aramis hissed back.

"Then what are _you _proposing?"

Aramis sighed, "That's just it, I don't know."

"That's a big help then," Porthos said sarcastically.

"Well at least I'm not suggesting all out rebellion!" came the rejoinder. "I just wish we could have the chance to speak properly with Athos, he's the tactician who has all the great ideas."

"Yeah, and the only great idea he's come up with so far is about 'playing the game.' It doesn't look like much of a game to me. Seems the only person losin' that game round here is him."

"Don't blame Athos," Aramis argued defensively. "It's not his fault."

"Did I say it was?"

The two men glared at each other and it was Aramis who was the first to back down. "Listen to us arguing with each other; we're doing Delacroix' work for him. We'll only get through this by working together."

"Sorry," Porthos muttered, suitably chastised.

Aramis squeezed the big man's shoulder affectionately, "Me too."

"I hope Athos is working on some other idea."

"So do I but we won't know what that is unless we get to speak at length with him. We don't really know what's occasioned all of this; his loss of command and the apparent punishments. We only know what Serge knows and what Delacroix has seen fit to tell us and I presume that's very biased. So far, Athos has either been drunk, locked up or unconscious. That doesn't make for productive conversation," Aramis observed.

"Taking care of him since we got back means we 'aven't 'ad much time for productive conversation ourselves. Did he say much to you when you sat in the cell with him?"

Aramis shook his head. "Mostly I was waiting for him to sober up. Then he had a bad hangover to contend with and was worrying about his punishment to say too much. You must admit he's not known for his conversation at the best of times." Both men smiled warmly at the thought of their friend's typical characteristics. "Apart from eventually having enough recall to confirm what I had surmised about why he got drunk in the first place, he stopped talking entirely when he heard how our search for Treville ended."

"You told him just before he was getting' punished?" Porthos was surprised.

"I didn't want to but he asked. I tried to stall him and change the subject but he wasn't having any of it. He just kept pushing so I had no choice except to tell him."

They lapsed into silence and it was Porthos who spoke next. "I'm sorry that it was left to you alone. I'd got it in my head that we'd tell 'im together, the three of us."

"I know but it just wasn't possible."

"How did he take it?" Porthos asked next.

"Not well. Like I said, he stopped talking completely; he never said another word but how much of it was down to my news or the prospect of what was to happen to him is hard to say. I kept up a very one-sided conversation after that but he wouldn't be drawn."

The pair fell silent again as they contemplated the problem they faced. They had finished eating and Serge was in the process of collecting their dirty plates when horses clattered into the yard bringing back the guard detail from the palace. Rising to their feet, their eyes raked the group, searching for their wounded brother so that they might tend him but he was not there. They sought for him again amongst the men who dismounted, handed reins over to the stable boys and headed towards the mess room for food. Athos was definitely not there.

It was Porthos who moved first, having chosen to intercept Faron who was trailing after the main group.

"Where's Athos?" he asked directly, ignoring any pleasantries.

"I don't know; he didn't leave the palace with the rest of us. As far as I know, he's still there," and Faron sidestepped in order to walk round Porthos but the big man moved again to block his progress.

"How did he seem?"

Faron rolled his eyes in exasperation, the call of food being of far greater interest. "I don't know and I don't care. I wasn't paying him any attention. The man was a mess; I don't know what possessed the Captain to put him on palace duty. He's a disgrace to the regiment."

Porthos growled and stepped forward, grabbing Faron by the shirt front, swinging him round and pushing him up against the door jam. "That 'man'," he enunciated slowly and furiously, "is your fellow musketeer an' if he's any sort of mess, it's on account of you and your colleagues. 'E was flogged for somethin' he didn't do – but then I reckon you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"

At least Faron had the civility to look nervous, "I don't know what you mean."

Porthos moved even closer, his snarling face inches away. "Oh but I think you do; I think you understand me very well. Well I have a message for you and you'd better make sure you listen." Whether by chance or design, Porthos had honed in on Faron and was going to use the opportunity to make his feelings known. If Faron were a weak link in the Delacroix chain, time would tell.

"Porthos," Aramis warned him, moving in to rest a hand loosely on his arm, a gesture that could become a restraint if needed. He was not entirely sure whether Porthos was acting in an intimidating fashion or if Faron was in any potential danger.

Porthos shrugged him off, his attention focused on Faron. "You stay away from Athos. Nothing else is to happen to him, you hear me? If it does, I'll be looking for someone to blame and I'm deciding that someone is you, whether you've been directly involved or not 'n' you really don't want to know what I might do then."

"Is there a problem here?" Bertram stood in the open doorway, Lalley and Garris immediately behind him.

Porthos released Faron, brushed imaginary specks from the shoulders of the other man and stepped back. "No, no problem," he said with a feigned lightness and a smile that did not reach his eyes. "We were just having a little talk, that's all."

"Fine," Bertram said. "I was worried that I might have overheard one musketeer threatening another."

"You must have misheard," Porthos said very deliberately. "Easy enough mistake, what with all the other threats and strange goin's on in the garrison at present."

Bertram made to move forward, "If you're saying something, soldier, you say it plainly."

"Or what? Is there another threat in that?" Porthos challenged him.

"Enough!" Aramis snapped, managing to ease an arm between the two musketeers as they faced up to each other. "Back off, both of you." He turned in appeal to Faron, Lalley and Garris to help him diffuse the situation, "Why don't you and Bertram go on inside and have something to eat. It's good; we've already had ours. Serge has gone to a lot of trouble."

They stood, as in a tableau, no one prepared to be the first to step away as Guillaume ran into the yard towards them. "I'm looking for the musketeers Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan. Her Majesty has demanded that they attend upon her at the palace immediately."

Exchanging alarmed glances, Aramis and Porthos dashed to the stables, startling the boys there as they grabbed saddles and shouted orders for horses to be brought. It was only minutes but seemed an interminable period before two mounts were ready and the two musketeers were swinging up onto horse back. Porthos leaned down, extending a hand to Guillaume.

"Come," he ordered.

The youth swallowed nervously and then took the proffered hand, yelping as he was hauled up onto the animal behind the big musketeer. Porthos allowed himself a wry smile as two slender arms slid round his waist and the boy hung on tightly when the horse began to move.

Aramis said nothing as they rode out of the garrison towards the palace, his mind racing and his feelings in turmoil. It had been a while since he had been in the Queen's presence at the palace; he had avoided duty there and believed, thankfully, that Athos was responsible for taking steps to manipulate his duties and reduce his exposure to the woman he loved. It was too painful, a constant reminder of the night they had shared together, of the unborn child he would never be able to claim as his own. Now, though, she called for him and he supposed that it had to be related to Athos. Something had happened after the duty had ended that had prevented him from returning to the garrison.

However, there was a gnawing sense of frustration and anger directed at none other than Porthos. What had he been thinking to be so confrontational to Delacroix' men? He had initially thought his brother was joking, testing the other men but then he had seen that unmistakable fire in his eyes and knew that he was dangerously close to acting alone.

"You were spoiling for a fight," he said accusingly as the two of them later strode through the palace in the wake of Guillaume.

"And supposing I was?"Porthos countered.

Aramis halted, grabbed Porthos by the arm to swing him round to face him. "Did you not give thought to anything we had spoken of only minutes beforehand?"

"Of course I did," Porthos answered tersely, "but that was before they came back without Athos and showed they cared nothing for what had happened to him. What was I supposed to do?"

"But you have provoked them, made enemies of them," Aramis insisted.

"And you really think they weren't enemies before?" Porthos argued. "They became our enemies the very first time they aligned themselves with Delacroix against Athos years ago. Because of our links with him, they automatically become against us."

"Again you speak of sides!"

"And what word would you use that would appease your conscience?" demanded the big musketeers.

"I fear for the regiment and its future. This talk of sides is a further indication that we are being torn assunder. What will be left of us when Treville returns?" Aramis challenged.

"When? Don't you mean 'if'?" Porthos said testily. "You have been listening too much to Athos," and he moved off towards Guillaume who waited for them further down the corridor.

Aramis hastened to catch up with him. "What is the matter with you?"

"What's the ….?" Porthos struggled for the right words to convey his mood, his expression pained. "It is a month since Treville left here and there has been no sighting or word for half that time. We've been musketeers long enough to know the usual outcome for a patrol overdue by two weeks or more. We are fooling ourselves and we are humouring Athos; that isn't fair to anyone and certainly not him."

"You've given up on Treville?" Aramis was incredulous.

"I thought that was the conclusion we reached when we left the monastery. I don't want to believe it any more than you but at some point we may well 'ave to wake up to a reality we don't much like. Right now, I have never felt so helpless in my whole life. We stand and watch what Delacroix and his minions do, probably with the blessing of Richelieu, and we do nothing. They've brought Athos about as low as I've ever seen 'im an' I couldn't protect 'im. He is my brother and my leader an' I'd follow 'im to the ends of the earth but I failed 'im."

"You never …"Aramis tried to interrupt but Porthos raised a hand and continued to speak over him.

"It's not just that. I'm guilty, guilty of being so angry with 'im because he won't fight back, not yet an' I don't understand why."

Aramis stared at him at a loss for words.

"The Queen awaits you," Guillaume reminded them and led them to the door at the end of the corridor. He opened it and gestured with his head that they should enter.

The Queen looked up as the two musketeers appeared and she could not conceal her delight when she saw that Aramis was one of the two who bowed low before her.

"Majesty," they both chorused.

It was Aramis who recovered first. "You sent for us, Your Majesty."

"Aramis, Porthos," Anne breathed, "I am so relieved that you are here at last." She tried to stand quickly but her swollen stomach restricted her movement. "Oh!" she huffed in annoyance. Her ladies in waiting moved to assist but a strong male hand was extended towards her first. Her eyes trailed from the open hand, up the arm to the handsome smile that greeted her.

"May I make so bold as to help Your Majesty?" Aramis asked.

Nodding, she took his hand and he raised her easily to her feet. "Your friend, Athos, is not well. I do not know how he still stands but he is in need of your aid."

"Where is he?" Porthos asked abruptly.

"Through there in the throne room," Anne answered, indicating the open door.

Both men were swift to move and she followed at a more sedate pace but not too late to see what transpired.

Athos stood in the middle of the room and, if it were at all possible, he had deteriorated further from when the Queen had last spoken with him. Sweat ran down his face and he rocked where he stood.

As he saw Porthos enter through the door first, he tried to say his name but could not even croak a syllable. A sob of relief threatened to overwhelm him but there was not even time enough for that for the struggle was over and his body surrendered. His eyes rolled back in his head, his legs buckled and he started to go down.

Porthos moved with amazing speed to catch his brother in his descent and, forgetting all that he had said about his anger in the corridor, he sank slowly and gently with him to the marble floor.


	30. Chapter 30

_**The Queen continues to take a key role in this chapter as the men prepare to go back to the garrison. Many thanks to all for your continued support and comments. **_

CHAPTER 30

Aramis dropped beside Porthos. "Here, let's get some of this off him," and he undid the belts, tossing them and the weapons to one side as he began working on the row of small buttons that fastened the doublet.

"We need to get him back to the garrison," Porthos suggested as between them, he and Aramis divested the hurt figure of his doublet.

As he crouched there, Aramis untucked a little of the voluminous shirt to investigate the bandages beneath. His expression spoke volumes and Porthos eased Athos to one side to look at where blood had seeped through the bindings.

Aramis rocked back on his heels and glanced up at the Queen who had moved closer. "Your Majesty, may we borrow a cart to carry him back to the garrison?"

"Certainly not," she answered, alarmed at the thought of them trying to move the unconscious musketeer any distance. "You must bring him into the next room and I will send for the King's physician.

Rising to his feet, Aramis smiled but his worry remained evident. "With respect, Your Majesty, we tended his injuries yesterday and we would prefer to do so again; no physician is necessary."

"Very well," she conceded, "but you are still not making him travel in the bed of a cart. Bring him into the next room, tell me what you need and then you can explain to me how he came by those injuries."

Aramis hesitated, studying the beautiful features of the woman he loved and who carried his child, and knew that she was not to be deterred from her instruction. He nodded compliantly and turned to help Porthos. Together, they pulled Athos almost upright to his feet, taking his weight as he hung lifelessly between them. Being unconscious, there was no need to worry about hurting him further and speed was of the essence so Porthos slid one arm round his shoulders and another beneath his knees, gathering him up with ease and carrying his limp form through into the next room.

At the sight of the big man bearing his unconscious brother in his arms, the ladies in waiting gasped, hands to mouths and it was the Queen herself, exasperated at their fluttering, who resumed control.

"Place him there," and she indicated a long, upholstered and backless seat, "and tell me what you require. My ladies will bring it." She frowned at the young women in warning.

Porthos sat Athos down, knowing that was an easier position for Aramis to remove the bandages, and settled beside him, allowing his unconscious friend to sink against him, tousled head on his shoulder.

"I'll need two bowls of water, one tepid and the other cold, cloths, fresh bandages, alcohol and," here he hesitated, "something to cover the seat." He dreaded the thought of blood or water staining the lavish material but Anne would not hear of it.

"It is a piece of furniture, Aramis," she chided gently. "Never let it be said of me that I would consider it more important than a man's welfare. It can be repaired or replaced; at best, your friend Athos can be repaired. He certainly cannot be replaced." She signalled to Guillaume to move her chair and reset it before the musketeers, lowering herself carefully into it before issuing further instructions that sent away the boy and her ladies. Porthos and Aramis were about to pull Athos' shirt up and over his head when they paused.

"Should you be here, Your Majesty?" Porthos asked.

"Where else do you propose I should be?" she wondered.

"Well," Porthos seemed embarrassed and looked in bewilderment to Aramis for help but when there was none forthcoming, he blundered on regardless. "We need to take off his shirt and …"

"Ah," she replied, understanding his discomfort and laughing lightly. "Porthos, I am a married woman. I have seen the bare chest of a man before." She could not resist shifting her gaze from Porthos to Aaramis who was busy occupied in the struggle with Athos' shirt. As he pulled it upwards, it was not soon enough to mask the flush that coloured his cheeks.

Her amusement faded, however, when she saw the extent of the bandages tightly wound around Athos' torso. "What happened?"

Before she could be enlightened, the ladies in waiting and Guillaume reappeared with the items they had collected and put them down on small tables which they moved within Aramis' reach. She thanked them and dismissed them again.

"But Your Majesty," Marianna objected, "your safety?"

"I cannot be safer than in the company of three of the finest of the King's musketeers even if," and she eyed Athos slumped against Porthos, "one of them is unconscious. Now leave us."

The four were left alone and Anne watched as Aramis began to unwrap the bandages, soaking them with a wet cloth whenever he found that they had stuck. Eventually the old wrappings were dropped on the floor; looking beneath the seat to where they lay, she saw the dark stains of dried blood. Rising, she began to walk slowly round one end but Aramis blocked her path.

"Your Majesty would be better staying there; you do not want to witness this," he said softly, trying to spare her the ruin of Athos' back but she stood her ground.

"I will see," she said determinedly. He stepped back to let her pass. As she looked at the combination of dried and weeping lacerations, she bit her lip, resolute that she would not show her shock.

"Who gave the order for this outrage?" she enunciated slowly.

"Delacroix," Porthos informed her.

"Why?"

"For drunkenness and insubordination," Aramis said softly.

She turned her head and looked at him directly, "And is there any truth in that charge?"

"He spoke up for the men when they were not paid and ill-fed. When he supposedly drank himself into oblivion, he had been struck on the head, tied up and force-fed the alcohol," Aramis explained as he began to bathe the wounds once more.

Anne resumed her seat and arranged her skirts around her as she thought about what she had heard. "You had best tell me everything from the beginning," she advised.

Aramis and Porthos exchanged glances, a silent understanding passing between them. Aramis nodded and Porthos began the tale as the Queen listened, her face remaining impassive as she interrupted occasionally to ask questions of clarification. She could hear the suppressed anger in Porthos' voice, saw the gentleness and concern as he cradled his ill-used brother in a protective embrace whilst Aramis ministered to him with meticulous care.

As the report of Delacroix' ineffective command and vindictive behaviour towards Athos came to an end, Porthos fell quiet and helped as Aramis wound fresh bandages round Athos' body. Porthos had recounted what he knew and Anne had filled some of the gaps as she told the men of the meeting in the palace when Athos had been removed from command but only he could complete the account from his first-hand experience. Anne watched, simmering with rage at the injustice whilst the men redressed the lifeless figure in his shirt.

"I have the ear of the King," she said. "Louis will have no choice but to act when he hears what I have to tell him."

Porthos was busily occupied with wiping Athos' face with a cool cloth as Aramis drew to one side with the Queen.

"You must be careful, Your Majesty. When you speak to the King, you should only speak of the Captain's behaviour; I doubt he will have anything said against the Cardinal and we have no hard evidence," Aramis warned. "I have reason to believe that Richelieu has his suspicions about the incident at the convent."

Her face paled at the prospect but then she became unwavering in her aim, "Louis would not have someone captaining the musketeers who has such little thought for the men under his command," Anne declared. "The regiment was his dream; his creation. He will not stand to see it corrupted."

"But Delacroix is in place by the recommendation of Richelieu; the King would never accept that the Cardinal could have made a mistake and overestimated Delacroix' ability to command the musketeers and he would certainly never believe that the Cardinal had manipulated things to get Delacroix into position," asserted Aramis.

A groan behind them drew their attention. Athos was stirring at last.

Green eyes slowly flickered open and lighted upon the figure standing opposite. As recognition dawned, the eyes widened and Athos struggled to sit straighter. "Your Majesty," he mumbled.

"Stay where you are, Athos," the Queen ordered. "You must not move."

He looked around him groggily, obviously confused. "What happened?" he muttered.

"You passed out in the throne room," Porthos explained. He watched as Athos assimilated the information.

"I will order some refreshments for you all," Anne offered.

"Thank you but that won't be necessary. We ought to be getting back to the garrison," Athos said, some strength returning to his voice.

"I won't hear of it," Anne insisted. "You need to give yourself time to recover properly before you even think of moving. Anyway, you are safe here."

"Safe?" he questioned and then looked at his two comrades for explanation.

"We have told the Queen what has been happening," Aramis stated.

Athos' face darkened at the news. "There was no need to trouble Her Majesty with such things."

"Well I for one am glad that Porthos and Aramis have told me. The King will not be pleased when he hears of this."

"You should not worry the King either. We will deal with this," Athos asserted.

"Yeah, just like you've been dealin' with it so far," Porthos muttered pointedly so that only Athos could hear. He pulled away from the big man and glared at him.

Sensing an awkward atmosphere, Anne rose and moved towards the door through which her ladies had disappeared earlier. She smiled. "If you will not comply, gentlemen, it will be by order of your Queen. I will have those refreshments sent forthwith but you will have to excuse me. There has been a little too much excitement this afternoon for me and I shall take my rest now."

Athos made as if to stand and held onto Porthos for support but even as she walked from the room, the Queen issued her final instruction, "And don't even think about attempting to bow, Monsieur Athos."


	31. Chapter 31

_**Thank you for the continuing lovely comments. The last chapter was all about the Queen and her help for Athos but, as they head back to the garrison, tension escalates again. Hope you enjoy!**_

CHAPTER 31

It was more than an hour later when the three made their way back to the garrison. Athos was still too shaky to walk the distance from the palace and categorically refused to sit atop a cart so that left a horse ride.

"I've only just treated your wounds," Aramis complained. "I don't want them aggravated by you getting on and off a horse again."

"Sorry to increase your workload but look on it as being a punishment for telling the Queen," Athos said, eyeing the horse and its saddle warily. It seemed so far from the ground.

"She ordered us," Porthos added, leaving his mount to come round to the side of Athos' horse and cupping his hands to repeat his previous assistance.

"And you don't turn down an order from the Queen," Aramis said, mounting with ease and worriedly watching Athos struggle into the saddle.

"We'll take it slow," Porthos declared and led the way out of the palace stable yard.

D'Artagnan had arrived back from his task and was anxiously awaiting their return at the group's usual table within the garrison. As they appeared through the archway, he leapt to his feet and went to meet them, hovering apprehensively and eager to lend a steadying hand as Athos slid from the saddle.

"Where have you all been? I've been so worried. I got back ages ago and Serge said you two had been called away in a hurry," the words tumbled from him as Porthos and Aramis took up their usual positions on either side of Athos, hands discreetly at his elbows to support him as the trio made a leisurely progress to the table. Athos leant on it and prepared to ease himself down onto one of the benches.

"Stop right there," came the order from above them.

Athos straightened up again and watched Delacroix descend the stairs from his office.

"Now what?" Porthos grumbled as, automatically, he, Aramis and d'Artagnan moved to create a protective semi-circle round their friend.

"There seems to have been some dereliction of duty this afternoon," he approached and stood immediately before Athos. "You left your post, soldier. Your order was to remain on guard in the throne room until relieved. You were not there when Garris was sent to dismiss you."

"How could he? He'd passed out!" Porthos said angrily. "It was bad enough you made him do the duty in the first place but it was a step too far to give the ridiculous order that he stay and guard an empty room. We tried telling you this morning he wasn't fit for duty. In case you'd forgotten, you had him flogged yesterday."

"I don't like your tone," Delacroix turned on the big musketeer.

"What's the matter? You don't like being reminded of the truth?" Porthos challenged.

"Easy," Aramis warned.

"Do yourself a favour and take your friend's advice." Delacroix goaded and then resumed his scrutiny of Athos who was attempting to stand straighter if his back would but allow it. "Meanwhile, two days in the holding cell for dereliction of duty for you?"

"But he's hurting and needs time to recover," d'Artagnan objected.

"Three days," Delacroix announced with a distinct smirk.

"This is beyond a joke," Porthos grumbled. "We explained to you what had happened. Why are you doing this?"

"Four days," was the only response.

"Don't say another word," Aramis said hurriedly, in case Porthos was intent upon exacerbating the situation.

"Take him," the Captain ordered and, from a doorway where they had unobtrusively been waiting, Faron and Massart appeared and walked towards the small group.

It was not Porthos who erupted in anger but d'Artagnan. He launched himself at Massart, shouting at him to leave Athos alone as he simultaneously swung a ferocious right-handed punch that connected with Massart's jaw, snapping his head back and sending him reeling. That was a signal to Porthos who grabbed Faron's arm, swung him round and released him, causing him to crash against the upright post at the bottom of the staircase, shaking it visibly so that Delacroix snatched at the banister to steady himself.

"Musketeers!" Delacroix yelled and Aramis thought it was a shout to bring them all to order until the other five followers, plus six of the recruits, materialised as if from nowhere and joined the fray.

"This might take some time," he said apologetically with a raised eyebrow as he pushed Athos down onto a bench and caught the shoulders of Maline, propelled in his direction from a mighty punch from Porthos. He turned the man round and delivered another jaw-crunching blow that effectively felled his opponent.

The trio were heavily outnumbered, or so they thought until the door to the mess room and kitchen flew open and a large group of musketeers spilled out into the yard led by Serge who was yelling at the top of his voice and brandishing a cooking pan.

Mayhem ensued as musketeer fought musketeer, tempers frayed beyond endurance so that resorting to violence became the advantageous release of pent up frustrations. All that was clear was that the Captain had totally lost control of some twenty-seven skilled fighting men who were punching, pummelling, pushing, throwing and kicking as if their very lives depended on it. The only blessing was that none of them had thought to draw a weapon.

Delacroix stood transfixed on the stairs and watched, horror etched across his face but making no attempt to resume any discipline.

A pistol shot rang out and a voice roared, "Enough!"

Instantly immobilised, the men looked towards the origin of the noise. Athos stood shakily, his arm holding up the pistol above his head, indicating that he had been the one responsible for firing it in the air.

"Enough," he repeated, his voice at normal volume and cutting through the silence as he walked into the melée of men. "What do you think you are all doing? Brother fighting brother? Is this what the regiment has come to? Are we so intent on tearing ourselves apart?"

"We were defending you," Porthos said by way of explanation.

Athos approached him and rested a hand on the big man's shoulder. "And I thank you, but this is not the way. I would not have any one of you," and he revolved to take in all the men around him, "get yourselves into trouble on my account and I certainly would not see any of you hurt as a result." He moved towards the bottom of the stairs and looked up at Delacroix who was attempting to compose himself.

"Your argument is, and always has been, with me. You want to lock me up again? So be it but the dissension stops here. The men will go about their business. No further retribution is needed."

Delacroix slowly descended to meet him. "And who do you think you are to be giving me orders?" his demeanour dangerous.

"I give no orders, merely a suggestion as to how this tension can be diffused. There will be no further trouble; on that, I am sure, I can give my word." He rounded on the men who moved in behind him and eyed each of them in turn, challenging them to acquiesce and waiting until every one of them had nodded his submission. It did not go unnoticed by him, though, that Delacroix' seven friends and the six recruits had separated from the main throng and gathered in opposition around the stairs, reinforcing the dreadful evidence that there were two distinct factions emerging within the regiment.

"You two," Delacroix stated, looking over Athos' head to where Aramis and Porthos stood. "You were also missing from duty this afternoon. You will also be in the holding cell."

Athos took a deep breath, intent upon curbing his own rising anger. "They were summoned to the palace by the Queen. We are, after all, the King's musketeers and should his wife, our Queen, issue a direct order, who are we to decide which royal we obey and which we ignore? They were following a higher demand and should be spared any punishment as a result." Delacroix hesitated. "We can, of course, appeal to the palace for verification of the earlier command. Her Majesty was kind enough to notice that I was …" and here he paused for effect, wanting his words and what lay unspoken to be carefully considered by the Captain, "unwell and summoned them to assist me. I would not want her to begin asking too many questions as to the cause of my ill health."

He remained expressionless as he deliberately manipulated the truth, not wanting Delacroix to know that Queen Anne was now privy to a lot of what was happening within the garrison. He wondered how she would feel were she to hear of the fighting that had erupted.

Delacroix thought carefully for a moment, pondering on how he might save face from the incident. At length, he conceded, albeit reluctantly. "Very well. They will go unpunished. There is, however, the man who initiated this afternoon's fracas," and his eyes rested upon d'Artagnan.

"Impetuosity of youth," Athos said smoothly. As d'Artagnan opened his mouth to protest, Porthos stood heavily upon his foot and any word he might have said metamorphosed into a grunt of pain. "Let us say it was an unfortunate incident with some misguided but well-intentioned motives by all who subsequently became involved," and he stared hard at the men who stood opposite him, "on both sides. We all need to learn from this and move on. I will serve your four days in the holding cell and let that be an end of it for the men standing here."

All waited with bated breath for Delacroix' agreement and there was a united exhalation as he nodded his accord. Massart and Silvey stepped forward.

Athos turned to his brothers and spoke so that only they could hear. "Four days are not too long. I am trusting you three to keep things calm out here until I am released. No-one –and I mean no-one - is to do anything else that might antagonise the Captain. He is the one who is humiliated this afternoon; he failed to take control and many have witnessed it. If the men had little faith in his leadership before, he has sunk to a new low in their eyes this day; it is a long road back for him."

He started towards the holding cell, Massart and Silvey falling into step on either side of him as an escort. He had not taken many steps, however, when a single hand clap began behind him, swiftly joined by another and then another until a generous round of applause supported him on his way to renewed imprisonment. Delacroix' personal group, on the other hand, stood still and silent.

The noise continued to ring in his ears as he sank down to sit in the straw in the holding cell. The door slammed shut, effectively cutting out the sunlight as the key turned noisily in the lock. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the dull ache that spread through his back, more concerned with the all-pervading worry that the regiment was weakening through discord. Allowed to continue, the King's Guard would tear itself apart and the outcome was inconceivable.

He had to find some way of re-uniting the body of men - for he feared that Delacroix had neither the initiative nor the inclination - and he had four days to contemplate it.


	32. Chapter 32

_**As the comments build up, I am overwhelmed by the number. Thank you all so much for your continued interest in the story and for taking the time to read and respond. I am sorry that I can't respond to guests directly because it is fun to have the ongoing conversations with a number of you.**_

_**So Athos is incarcerated, another sacrifice for the sake of the regiment as he doesn't want trouble for or amongst the men but things move on apace in this chapter in a big build up for tomorrow! Enough said, except to say that tomorrow's chapter will be up earlier in the day.**_

CHAPTER 32

Dinner that evening was a sombre affair for all within the garrison. Torrential rain fell, cooling the air and some of the tempers. It meant that Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan were at a corner table in the mess rather than heading out to a local inn. They ate in brooding silence having been informed by Delacroix that Aramis was not to have the luxury of being able to visit Athos during his incarceration. Appeals to tend his injuries were turned down and Aramis was loathe to push his point in case the Captain extended the imprisonment or thought up other more devious ways to make Athos suffer.

"That cell is filthy," Aramis suddenly announced. "I just hope he won't get an infection. If those wounds continue to weep, the bandages will stick again and healing will inevitably take longer."

"It's a good thing that you had the chance to change the bandages today at the palace," Porthos noted.

"It's my fault he's got longer in there though. If only I'd kept quiet." d'Artagnan sat slumped in abject misery.

"I added to it too but we weren't to know Delacroix would just keep increasing the days out of spite," Porthos acknowledged.

"Delacroix looked a fool when he just stood there and let us fight. He had no idea how to stop it whereas Athos took control almost immediately." Aramis was reviewing events of the afternoon. "I fear that it won't sit well with Delacroix though."

"But Athos has been losing out to Delacroix at every turn; it was about time something went his way," Porthos argued.

"Yes. You said earlier that you wanted him to fight and he did, in his own inimitable fashion," Aramis reminded him. D'Artagnan raised an eyebrow quizzically but Aramis merely shrugged, unwilling to elucidate on their earlier disagreement. "A conversation we were having this afternoon. Long story."

Delacroix, meanwhile, was sitting at the head of his table, simmering with rage and eyeing with suspicion his so-called friends, wondering which of them had turned traitor. He emptied his goblet of red wine in one and refilled it for the fourth time, listening to the talk around the table. There was regret that the fight had been curtailed and all were boasting about what they would have done to the_ Inseparables _had they only had the opportunity. Some were commenting on the arrogance of Athos in assuming authority but Delacroix saw it as a guarded slight upon himself, irrationally identifying Maline as the one speaking the loudest and longest and thereby the one most likely to be Richelieu's informant.

All he was certain of now was that as a direct result of the afternoon's debacle, his hatred of Athos knew no bounds. He had been shamed before a good proportion of the garrison's inhabitants, gossip would spread and it was all the fault of the other musketeer. Delacroix desperately wanted to ignore Richelieu's instruction; now, more than ever, he wanted Athos dead.

In the holding cell, Athos shivered in the damp night air as he sat in the straw clutching a chunk of dried bread and a wooden cup of cold water. He was thankful for the refreshment the Queen had supplied but even that had not been an adequate substitute for a meal. For once, he had to acknowledge that he was hungry, not having had a proper meal for nearly four days now and he had another four of less than basic rations ahead of him, unless Delacroix took pity on him and rescinded the bread and water order. He did not think that was very likely! Chewing on the bread in small bites, not knowing when the next piece would arrive, he tried to divert his thoughts by mulling over how best the regiment could be saved. Such preoccupation only served to crush his mood even further by reminding him of the fact that the best resolution lay in the return of the one man whom many believed dead.

…..

To all concerned, the four days passed interminably slowly but Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan were standing outside the holding cell for the moment when Bertram was sent to unlock the door. Aramis was worried that the poor conditions in the cell might have caused Athos to develop an infection and he was impatient to remove the potentially soiled bandages to investigate the five-day old injuries beneath. The door creaked back on its hinges and there was a delay but eventually Athos appeared in the opening, clutching unsteadily at the door frame as his legs refused to co-operate from enforced lack of movement and he blinked in the brightness of the daylight. Porthos and d'Artagnan were immediately there to help him.

In the sanctuary of his room, they had some food and drink spread on the table with the promise of hot dishes to be delivered by Serge as soon as he had bathed in the tub that stood ready and dressed in the clean clothes that were laid out on the bed.

First, though, Aramis wanted to remove the bandages and Athos sat obediently as they were cut off.

"How does it look?" he wanted to know.

"Surprisingly good; I was worried about infection but it's healing. You might need to be a little careful in the bath though.

"Tell me what's been happening whilst I've been locked up," he said as he stripped and climbed into the tub, lowering himself into the hot water with a satisfied sigh. His friends had diplomatically refrained from saying anything but he knew he was filthy and stank. He had not had the chance to be properly clean since the morning of the day he was made drunk and there were no concessions to personal hygiene when shut up in a cell with a bucket the only means of relieving himself.

"Things have been fairly quiet," Porthos confirmed as he poured a goblet of red wine and handed it to Athos. "There's been no fighting at least."

"Good. I was worried about that." Athos took a mouthful of wine and savoured the taste before swallowing. Then he contemplated Porthos' carefully chosen wording. "'At least?' So what else has been happening?" He began to scrub at his arms.

"Most have at last been paid some wages except for those involved in the fight the day you were locked up; for them, as for us, it continues to be withheld. Feelings are running high amongst those men and others who sympathise with them; some are trying to share their coin but a number have financial commitments that they are struggling to honour. Double duties have also been assigned to those who fought and any who dare to voice an objection, no matter how quietly," Porthos explained.

"Even Serge has had no wages and was forced to pull a guard duty on the main gate," Aramis continued, taking the cloth from Athos and gently dabbing at areas of his back.

"Serge! What on earth for?" Athos could not believe what he was hearing. The old soldier was busy enough in the kitchen and should not have been subjected to other duties; his days of that level of service had long since passed so it was obviously ordered as a punishment.

"He was armed," Aramis said simply.

"With a pan!" exclaimed Athos. "Did he do much damage with it?"

"Word has it he broke the nose of one of the recruits," d'Artagnan added with a grin.

Porthos was deliberating on a more negative aspect. "Still doesn't get away from the fact that Delacroix seems to have got some of the recruits working directly with him."

"They are probably too nervous to do anything except obey a direct order, especially if it comes from the regiment's captain," Athos surmised, retrieving the cloth from Aramis and continuing to wash himself clean. "What about you three, have you had extra duties?"

"Not as such," d'Artagnan responded, "but Delacroix has ensured that we have not been given the same tasks; our separation has continued."

"Delacroix has been conspicuous by his absence from the first full day after he had you locked up and he definitely hasn't been sleeping here," d'Artagnan continued.

"Where's he going then?"

"Don't know," Porthos added. "We haven't had the chance to follow him as he's made sure we've been kept occupied with duties. Two of his immediate group also seem to have disappeared but we don't think that they're with him as he does return."

Athos relaxed in the hot water and considered what he was hearing. "Who's gone and when?"

"Massart and Maline. They went some time during the first day you were in the 'olding cell."

"And they haven't come back at all?"

"We 'aven't seen 'em." Porthos watched Athos carefully. "What're you thinkin'?"

"It's just conjecture at present but I would say that they are no longer in Paris; if they were, they would have come back here at some point to give a report."

"Unless Delacroix is going to meet them elsewhere," d'Artagnan suggested.

"It's possible but I do not get the feeling that he is one to put himself out unless there is some direct benefit or he's out to impress someone like Richelieu."

"So where could they have gone and why?" Aramis wondered.

Athos shrugged. "That is something we need to discover. The other option is that one or both of them are no longer in favour and Delacroix wants them out of the way."

"Why would you think that?" d'Artagnan was curious as to Athos' train of thought.

"Because he does not appear to have seen fit to send any of his followers off during the time he has been in command; we know that some of their behaviour was erratic whilst I was captain but we were not concentrating on their whereabouts at the time so we were not monitoring who was missing and for how long. Had there been any pattern at the time, it passed us by. It begs the question as to why he should send them somewhere now; that is, of course, assuming that any instruction came from him."

His three friends pondered his words as he doused his head.

"That's not all," Aramis broke the silence with a more sobering announcement. "When we got back late from duties two days ago, each of our rooms had been searched."

Athos looked from one to the other, water streaming down his face. "Was anything taken?"

"No, whoever it was hadn't tried to conceal what they were about. Things were left untidy," and here Aramis hesitated, "especially here in your room."

Athos straightened in the tub and surveyed his few possessions. It was unsettling to think that someone had gained unwanted access to his quarters and systematically gone through his belongings.

"We tidied up as best we could. You'll have to check things but we don't think anything is missing."

"What do you think they were looking for?" d'Artagnan wanted to know.

"I have no idea," Athos answered, "but I caught Delacroix tearing apart the office the first night he was in command."

"You never told us," Porthos said grimly.

Athos shrugged an apology. "Somehow the opportunity never arose, coupled with the fact that he made some excuse at the time for the mess and I had not given further thought to it until you just said what you did. Obviously, he believes Treville had something and when he couldn't find it, he wondered if I had whatever it was and then, by association, your good selves."

"Could it be some sort of document?" Aramis explored possibilities.

"It is plausible." Deciding that the water was now too cool, Athos clambered out of the tub with a steadying hand from Aramis and began to dry himself off with a large cloth proffered by d'Artagnan. Porthos slipped out to get the hot food from Serge and returned with it to find that the other two had removed the tub whilst Athos finished dressing.

Settled around the table on some borrowed chairs, they ate their fill and resumed their conversation.

"So, Athos, what kind of document do you think would interest Delacroix?" d'Artagnan wanted to know.

"If it is a document, I do not think it is of any interest to Delacroix whatsoever but I do think it is important to Richelieu and as Delacroix is working for the Cardinal, I would assume that he has been tasked with finding it."

They fell silent and sipped at their wine as they considered Athos' words; if his supposition were to be correct, it would explain some of what was happening but it was chilling to think that they were suspected of being in possession of something about which they knew absolutely nothing.

At length, Athos yawned, his eyes heavy.

"You need to get to bed," Aramis instructed. "Did you get any reasonable sleep over the past few days?"

Athos shook his head as he yawned again, "The first night I was too cold and then the cell was too hot for the rest of the time so to sleep in a bed would be a welcome change," he smiled in anticipation.

The others bid him goodnight, promising that they would help clear up the remains of their meal the next morning rather than detain him any longer from his much-needed sleep and that they would ensure he was awake for the morning's muster.

As he closed the door after they had departed, he sank against it, concerned with what they had discussed during the evening. He reached for his doublet that lay across the bed and slid his hand into the inside pocket. Sighing, he felt the presence of the three keys and concluded two things: ether Delacroix knew of the keys' existence and they were the object of his search or he sought some important documentation, not knowing that it was secreted somewhere for safekeeping and it was none other than Athos who had the means to secure it.


	33. Chapter 33

_**Greetings. A double length chapter today as it marks a significant turning point in the story! I apologise in advance if there is a delay in the next chapter though (I have done little preparation for work) so I hope this chapter might make up for it! Thanks for the reviews and comments as always; I love to hear from you.**_

CHAPTER 33

Given all that had been happening, Athos slept long and deeply through a night that was surprisingly undisturbed by bad dreams and he consequently arose more refreshed and determined than he had for some time. When d'Artagnan raised a fist to knock on his door, half expecting to find him still abed, the door opened wide to reveal an immaculately attired Athos who had evidently awakened with enough time to complete his grooming from the previous evening. Beard and moustache were trimmed, hair tamed, boots polished, uniform spotless and weapons cleaned or oiled. D'Artagnan initially wondered if he had had time to sleep but he greeted him with a smile and led the way briskly out into the yard to where the other two were already seated, waiting for them.

They broke their fast and were amongst the first to gather for the morning's muster. For some reason, Delacroix seemed to have relented a little in as much he separated the four friends into pairs. D'Artagnan and Aramis were destined to accompany him to the palace for duty in the morning whilst the other two remained at the garrison; Porthos had the recruits sparring and Athos, not to be left out, was assigned to drilling another large group of musketeers. He was relieved to have something to occupy his attention and his friends were happy that it was not too physically taxing a chore although he did appear to be moving much more easily.

They parted company and set about their morning's duties and Athos was amazed to find that the hours passed quickly. A couple of soldiers had taken advantage of his presence and attempted to engage him in discussion about what was happening within the regiment but he refused to be drawn, tactfully redirecting their energies to the task in hand. He drilled them hard but they responded positively and, when they halted for food around midday, spirits were high amongst the men for the first time in days as they felt they had produced a job well done and they were joking and laughing as they filed into the mess. Athos settled onto the bench at their usual table and watched as Porthos approached.

"A good morning?" the big man asked as he threw his hat on the table, sat down and reached for the jug of watered ale and one of the cups that had been placed there in readiness by Serge, who was still finding it hard to relinquish his promise to look after Athos, especially in light of his recent treatment.

"Yes, the men worked well," Athos accepted the cup Porthos held out to him and took a long drink.

"They were working for you," Porthos pointed out.

"Are you saying your group did not make a concerted effort?"

"Of course they did," Porthos grinned. "They were recruits; they didn't dare do anything else. Also," he became more serious, "some of them were involved in the fight the other day – on the wrong side. They needed to be put through their paces."

"Porthos, remember what we said last night. They are young and probably being put under a lot of pressure by Delacroix and his friends; they do not know what to do for the best."

There was a harrumph of disagreement from Porthos but his face immediately brightened as Serge appeared with a tray of plates and food.

"What 'ave you been doin' to the men?" he asked Athos as he served up wedges of cold meats and bread.

"What do you mean?" Athos was puzzled.

"Well, I ain't seen or 'eard 'em so cheerful for days. You must've done somethin'," the old man insisted.

"That's what I was just tryin' to say to 'im," Porthos pointed out.

Athos shook his head, unwilling to accept the credit. "It is merely relief due to the fact that Delacroix and his immediate group are all at the palace. With two of them gone from the garrison, his loyal band is depleted and he's taken the rest with him whilst he meets with the King and the Cardinal. D'Artagnan and Aramis are probably only there to make up the numbers! He hasn't even left me with a shadow."

"Don't tell me you're missing the company?" Porthos asked, grinning.

"I can't say that I am. Even being locked up for four days had its advantages!"

"Don't even joke about it," the big man warned.

Athos dipped his head in conciliation. "I am sorry."

"Well, I think it's down to the fact that most of the men'll work for you but they resent the Captain. Every day shows that the wrong man is in charge and they're doing what they can to make sure you know it," Serge said with a sniff.

"I'm touched, truly," Athos began, his eyes fixed on the main entrance where a stranger on foot had arrived and was asking something of Duval, the man on duty, "but I really don't want a division in the regiment that could destroy it. I would appreciate it, Serge, if you would pass that on to the men in general conversation." His voice trailed off as the guard and the stranger walked towards him.

"Athos, I'll leave this gentleman with you," Duval said. "He's looking for the Captain but as he's not here, I think you ought to be the one that hears this. I need to get back to my post," and so saying, Duval nodded a farewell to the man and headed back to the entrance.

"Please sit," and Athos indicated the bench. "Serge, a cup and plate for our visitor; he looks as if he has been on the road for a while and is in need of refreshment." Serge grunted and Athos knew the old man's inquisitive nature meant that he was afraid of missing something important. "I am Athos of the King's Musketeers and this is Porthos. Captain Delacroix is at the palace at present. How may I be of assistance?"

The visitor sat at the table, obviously overwhelmed but whether that was by the garrison or Paris in general, Athos had yet to determine. The man, probably in his late twenties with long, unkempt hair of a nondescript brown and alert hazel eyes, was from the country if his calloused hands, tanned skin and the rough fabric of his dull-coloured clothing and travelling cloak were anything to go by. Athos was fleetingly reminded of d'Artagnan when he first arrived at the garrison although given the boy's accusation against him, it was not the happiest of memories. However the time that had elapsed since – almost a year – had done much to turn that initial impression totally on its head.

"I am Robert Fallon. I come from a village, Clairmont, about a day's ride from here," the man explained.

"Did you ride? Where's your horse?" Porthos interrupted.

"I've tethered her outside the entrance."

"What brings you here to Paris?" Athos asked.

"My brother and I, we were out hunting when we …." Robert Fallon faltered, wondering how the devastating news he harboured might be received by the men within the garrison. There was no way that he could lessen the blow. "Have you a patrol missing?"

Athos felt Porthos turn his eyes on him but he could not look in his direction. His mouth went dry as he feared what he might be about to hear. "Yes," he said simply.

Fallon hesitated, "My brother and I were out hunting when we found them in a shallow grave. We knew they were musketeers from their clothing and the insignia," he fingered his own right shoulder as he focused on the fleur de lis on Athos' pauldron. "A group of us collected the bodies and took them back to our village."

"How did they die?" Athos voice was barely more than a harsh whisper.

"They must have been attacked," Fallon was not sure how much detail he should give. These men were hardened soldiers who must have seen their fair share of death but it was one thing to see it on a battlefield and something else entirely when it unexpectedly claimed their own. They would be an odd kind of family unit, a brotherhood, and they would undoubtedly feel the loss; indeed, the young man before him looked as though he might take it particularly badly. "They looked as though they had fought hard but their wounds were many and brutal. Some had been shot, others pierced or slashed by swords and at least one had severe head injuries." He paused to let his words be absorbed by the two men who sat with him; the bigger of the two glancing concernedly at the other.

"We buried them in their own graves, gave them individual markers, had a priest say words and laid flowers but we knew we ought to let you know, that you were probably worrying about them and that you needed answers. As a village, we have sworn to tend their last resting place." He broke off as Athos lurched to his feet and stumbled to the foot of the stairs. Fallon glanced wildly at the big musketeer as if terrified that he had done something wrong.

Porthos jumped up and rushed to where Athos clung to the handrail of the staircase, gasping as if he were struggling for breath and his face drained of colour. He laid a comforting hand at the nape of his friend's neck, mindful of his back and wary of hurting him but knowing there was no greater hurt than what he was feeling right now. The news they had all dreaded had finally arrived at the garrison. Treville's group had been found and cared for by a group of strangers but they deserved justice and after all this time, it would be hard to find a starting point.

"I'm sorry," Porthos said softly and waited as Athos fought with himself to regain control. All this time he had hoped, sure that Treville would come riding through the archway or that word would reach them somehow that he had been unavoidably detained or fallen ill or been injured and was recuperating somewhere. Not this; he had never wanted to hear these words. He took a big, shuddering gulp of air, his eyes brimming with unshed tears but nodded to Porthos that he had recovered sufficiently.

He turned back to Fallon and gave a watery smile. "I thank you for coming to tell us. The group you speak of, led by our Captain, left here four weeks ago on a mission to Normandy. We know they were on their way back and had spent the night at a monastery just over a day from here; that is the last news we have of them. We appreciate all that you have done for our brothers and we hope you won't mind if, at some point in the near future, some of us come to pay our respects."

"We will welcome you, even though your visit will be for sad purposes. Perhaps you can settle one more thing for us though," Fallon requested.

"Anything." Even Porthos sounded gruff now.

"We won't be able to name the individual graves but if you give us the six names, we would like to place something with them that identifies them."

"That's very generous of you; we'll let you 'ave …." Porthos did not finish as Athos grabbed his arm to silence him.

"How many did you say?" he asked slowly.

"Six," Fallon looked perplexed.

"Seven men left here," Porthos said. "Are you sure?" Fallon nodded.

Athos' demeanour changed in an instant from the all-consuming grief that had hit him minutes earlier. "He's alive," he rounded on Porthos. "Treville's alive."

"Now steady on,"Porthos warned, uneasy at the alteration the news had wrought in his friend. "You don't know that for certain. It could just as easily be one of the others who was not among the dead."

"He's alive," Athos repeated passionately. "I know it!"

…

An hour later, Delacroix and the palace guard returned, d'Artagnan and Aramis amongst them. Whilst Porthos shared the news with them and also his concern at how their friend had taken the information, Athos followed Delacroix up to his office to inform him as to what had transpired. Fallon, having delivered his message to the garrison, could not be persuaded to remain until he had spoken to the Captain in person, preferring to be homeward bound as quickly as possible.

At first, Delacroix had refused to see him and expected Bertram to detain him at the door but when he had declared loudly that six musketeer bodies had been found about a day from Paris, Delacroix had rapidly relented and granted him admittance but his general demeanour was one of barely disguised confrontation.

With the door closed behind him, Athos repeated what Fallon had told him, his eyes never leaving Delacroix' face as he gauged his reaction.

"So why are you so sure that Treville is still alive?" Delacroix demanded.

"Six bodies found and reburied. He escaped."

"Yes but why him? It could just as easily be any one of the others."

"Perhaps but I do not think so," Athos was adamant. "I do not believe this attack was random, opportunist. If deliberate, why kill the commanding officer of the regiment? He would be privy to all kinds of information, not least security for the King; that would be deemed invaluable by some. The accompanying musketeers are not valuable in that respect."

"He – whoever he is - could have been wounded and staggered away to die somewhere else. His body has just not been discovered as yet," Delacroix objected, his voice rising a little in frustration. He did not need this right now.

"Fallon said he, his brother and other villagers are constantly in those woods. If they could find shallow graves, they would find a body that had fallen somewhere," Athos persisted. "He's not been found as he's not dead. He's been taken prisoner by someone."

"The seventh person," Delacroix said carefully, "could have fallen in a nearby river and been washed away."

"Then we follow the river and search for it. There must be any number of places where a body might wash up on a bank."

"We? Where did this 'we' appear from? No-one is going anywhere."

"Captain, seven men left here a month ago and six are definitely dead. We owe it to them to find out what happened to them. To find out who was responsible. If that seventh man is still alive - and I maintain that he is and that it is Treville – we need search parties out there to find him, rescue him if need be, and bring him home."

"It has been too long. I will not waste men's time and energy on a fruitless search." For some reason, Delacroix was becoming bothered, his voice more strident and it did not go unnoticed by Athos.

"How can you say it's a waste of time? Our brothers have been cut down, murdered by attackers and we must act. We should pay our respects to the fallen and do everything in our power to find the seventh. He could give us invaluable information as to the identities of those who did this."

"You are obsessed, man. Why are you so convinced that Treville is still alive?" Delacroix was increasingly aggressive in his tone.

"Why are you so convinced that he is not?" Athos shot back, his own voice rising. "Unless you know something that I do not."

"What are you saying?" Delacroix came to his feet in anger.

"You have persisted in not sending a search party. Why? Most times when a patrol was overdue, Treville sent out more men; it was rare that he would not send assistance. There would always have been a good reason that prevented him from doing so. So why not you? Why have you not sent anyone? It has to be more than not wanting to waste time. I accept that there is laziness on your part; you do seem to have been reluctant to do any more than the basic necessities and ignored anything that does not bring you to the attention of the King or Cardinal …."

"How dare you? I'll have you on a charge for gross insubordination," Delacroix was shouting now.

"How dare I?" Athos countered, his face dark as his thoughts gathered momentum. "I would claim that your treatment of the men and me gives me ample reason to 'dare'. Your refusal to send help suggests that you know for certain that Treville is dead and by whose hand or you know where he is."

"Your accusations are unfounded; your ideas fanciful," Delacroix blustered.

"Are they? If my accusations are without foundation, why has my room been searched and the rooms of my friends?"

Delacroix looked as if he had been struck. His mouth opened and closed, reminiscent of a landed fish. "I don't know what you mean."

"I think you do. Give me some answers or at least let me go alone to search if you are so reluctant to spare any other men. If I am away from the garrison, you won't have to worry about my insubordinate behaviour, will you?" Athos demanded. "Or are you more afraid that I will find out the truth?"

"You set one foot beyond the garrison and I will have you hunted down and shot as a deserter," Delacroix threatened loudly.

"That would solve all your problems, wouldn't it? What are you so anxious to hide?" Athos' voice matched the Captain's in volume as he continued to push, convinced now that Delacroix was withholding significant information.

As the argument raged in the office, their angry voices filtered down to the men who sat at the table below and they cast worried eyes in the direction of the sound. The tone was unmistakable even though they could not distinguish individual words.

D'Artagnan gestured helplessly towards the stairs. "Do you think ... we ought to ...? He struggled to make sense of his turbulent thoughts, scared that if he voiced his fears, they would sound ridiculous. He could not quite decide what he believed Athos might do; all he knew was that he had never heard such ire in his mentor's voice which was rarely raised, unless he was issuing an order above a cacophony. The man commanded such authority, a mere look was often enough to leave a miscreant quaking and imparting the information he required and when he did speak, the low resonance, easy articulation and clipped consonants quelled much resistance.

Porthos snorted derisively. "Better if we leave ol' Athos to it. Hopefully he's telling Delacroix like it is."

Aramis shook his head in consternation. "I hate to disagree with you, my friend, but I fear Athos could be making it much worse for himself. We know that Delacroix does not seem to be playing by any rules thus far and, until recently, the one coming off worse each and every time is Athos." He was aware that the men sparring in the courtyard were gradually ceasing to practice and, instead, were lowering weapons and straightening up, heads turning towards the office.

"I have to agree," d'Artagnan added. "Athos has been through ..." He never had a chance to finish what he was going to say as, above them, a door was thrown back on its hinges, crashing into the wall. Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan followed the route of the quick footsteps to the head of the stairs, recognising the tread. Athos' boots clattered on the stairs as he almost ran down them, his face a picture of undisguised fury.

"Athos," Aramis began, rising from the bench but Athos either failed to hear him or deliberately ignored his friends as he strode past their table, donning his gauntlets. More footsteps on the balcony above them signalled that Delacroix was following and his high voice rang out across the courtyard.

"I haven't finished with you yet. Come back here, you arrogant whoreson!"

Athos froze mid-step, the tension in his body obvious to all gathered there and the simultaneous, sharp intake of breath by some twenty men was audible.

Porthos stood, his face creasing into a frown. "I don't like the look of this," he growled. Aramis and d'Artagnan moved round the table to stand on either side of him, their eyes fixed upon their other friend who slowly revolved and raised his eyes to look up at Delacroix's vantage point.

"What did you call me?" Cold, green eyes narrowed and the voice dropped, although no-one was in any doubt as to what he said. Seething anger surged through every fibre of Athos' being; when all was said and done, there was absolutely no question about the parentage of the Comte de la Fère and the very public comment cast an unforgiveable slur on his mother's reputation, not that he believed anyone present would give any credence to what Delacroix had said. The fingers of his right hand flexed and moved instinctively to the belt where his pistol would have been but he was unarmed. Both Porthos and Aramis saw the movement and recognised it for what it was. Alarmed, Aramis took a step forward.

"Athos," he said quickly in warning. The waves of tension emanating from his friend were almost tangible.

"Get back here," Delacroix repeated, knowing that the moment he had uttered the words, he had gone too far and he endeavoured to resume some semblance of control," or else I'll ..." His voice trailed off.

"Or else you'll what?" Athos challenged. He flung wide his arms in an act of open defiance. "What can you possibly do to me that you haven't already done? You've taken away the authority bestowed upon me by Captain Treville, had me publicly flogged, humiliated me at the palace, thrown me into a cell and now insulted my family. Minutes ago, you threatened to have me shot as a deserter. What could you possibly have left?"

There was a fleeting moment, as he glared up at Delacroix, that Athos saw Treville once more, standing at the balcony, arms wide, taking his weight as he leaned against the balustrade to survey the courtyard below. At times, his expression would be one of displeasure, usually at something the _Inseparables_ had done or said but, more frequently, there was a sense of calm and contentment in his features as he watched his men. The unexpected memory brought Athos a sudden physical sense of pain as he thought of the man who had been more of a father figure to him than his natural father and he was reminded yet again of the unanswered questions that remained regarding the man's untimely disappearance.

Delacroix eyed the belligerent musketeer and contemplated his options; a malicious sneer contorted his face as an idea struck him. "That's simple, I shall strip you of your commission."

Horrified gasps were heard amongst the gathered men at the pronouncement and d'Artagnan looked wildly at Aramis. A slight frown was the only sign that he was perturbed.

A stunned silence ensued as all awaited Athos' response. Against all expectations, he suddenly threw back his head and laughed aloud, a sound and action that appeared so unnatural for him that it was chilling, especially when it was evident that no genuine mirth was involved. As suddenly as he began, he stopped and his left arm shot out, finger pointed at Delacroix.

"You are a disgrace to the uniform you wear," he roared. "You have miserably failed to uphold the musketeer creed of honour and you are single-handedly destroying this regiment and all it has stood for in the years since its inception." In a sweeping gesture to take in the musketeers who had fallen silent around him, none having ever seen him so angry and mesmerised by the force of his tirade, he continued. "You do not lead these men; you stifle and murder their loyalty with threats and fear. You dare to accuse me of dereliction of duty? You have been spectacularly derelict in your duty to these men and this regiment not least with your continued betrayal of Captain Treville by your inactivity in pursuing investigations into the disappearance of him and our six brothers who rode with him. You are not fit to lick the boots of that man!"

Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan were stunned into immobility. As close as the four of them were, even they had never witnessed such unbridled rage in their comrade and they watched in horrified disbelief as he began to tear at the buckle securing his pauldron to his shoulder.

"You will not strip me of my commission; you will have neither the opportunity nor the satisfaction. I will not serve beside one such as you, a mere puppet whose strings are pulled by his puppet master, the Cardinal, and I refuse to be an extension of the Red Guard!"

He yanked the pauldron down his arm. "I resign my commission!" and he threw the pauldron upwards. With his final act of defiance, he turned on his heel and strode swiftly through the garrison archway and out into the Paris street.


	34. Chapter 34

_**I am SO sorry about the delay. Uploads might be erratic this week too as work is manic but here, at last, is the next chapter. Thank you SO much for the continued feedback.**_

CHAPTER 34

With Athos' speedy departure, he had failed to see the well-aimed pauldron curl through the air towards Delacroix who, slow to react, recoiled as it caught him on the left side of his face, the buckle drawing blood. The silence in the courtyard was palpable and musketeer attention divided. Some watched Delacroix wipe the blood from his cheek with a trembling hand whilst others looked towards the empty archway, half expecting Athos to reappear.

"What has he done?" whispered d'Artagnan, trying to absorb the implication of what had just happened and the prospect of a future without the older musketeer amidst their number.

"What he felt he had to do," Aramis answered softly.

"That was his fight back plan?" breathed Porthos in unconcealed awe of his friend and brother. Snapping out of his reverie, he looked at the two still standing with him, his face serious but his eyes glistening with a combination of pride and resolve. "All for one," he announced, starting to unbuckle his own pauldron.

The glance between Aramis and d'Artagnan may only have been brief but they instantly reached a mutual decision. "And one for all," they concluded as they too removed their leather pauldrons, the symbol of everything they had believed in, the code by which they had lived and fought. The bond of brotherhood was stronger though and was unquestionable. Where their brother, friend and leader went, they would follow. The three cast the leather on the table where they had sat on innumerable occasions to share meals, laughs, triumphs and tragedies.

"What do you think you're doing?" yelled Delacroix from above them. The three looked at each other and grinned, suddenly imbued with purpose as they headed in the direction of the rooms they used whilst in the garrison.

"Packing," Porthos shouted without turning round. As the three walked off, Porthos in the middle, he threw an arm around the shoulders of his two companions. "We'd best gather up Athos' belongings too and go after him. With him not having had a drink for a while now, he may be well into his cups by the time we find him."

"And when we do," Aramis decided, a mischievous glint in his eye, "it would be best if we did the same. I doubt a celebration is in order, given that we suddenly find ourselves without gainful employment, but it is a significant event for all of us and, I warrant, it should be marked as such!"

"And what do we do after that?" asked D'Artagnan, trying to ignore the gnawing concern that bothered him in order to draw strength from his brothers.

"Then I assume we'll be setting off with Athos in search of Treville," Porthos said with a certainty he had not felt for a while.

...

Athos did not know how long he walked the streets of Paris but when his mind eventually cleared, he made his way back to the Wren and resolved to stay at the inn until the others appeared as he had no doubt they would do before the evening was out. In fact, he was still nursing his first goblet of wine, staring unseeing into its ruby depths, when d'Artagnan sank breathlessly into the seat beside him.

"Where have you been? We have been worried sick, searching high and low. We've already been here once. The others told me that I was to keep you here until they returned. Under no circumstances was I to let you out of my sight. They'll be here soon."

Athos nodded and downed his wine in one before reaching for the bottle for a refill.

"Are you …" d'Artagnan hesitated, wondering what would be the best word, "well?"

Athos shot him a withering look but was spared having to answer when the main inn door opened to admit Porthos and Aramis. On seeing Athos, they shared a relieved glance and approached the table, signalling the bar tender for another bottle and more glasses as they went.

Once each had a drink, they could not delay the inevitable conversation.

"Where have you been?" Porthos asked, unaware that he was repeating d'Artagnan's earlier question.

"Walking. Thinking," came the succinct response.

"You have no regrets about your abrupt decision?" Aramis wanted to know.

"It is pointless to have regrets. The decision is made and I will not serve with that man any longer." Athos pulled himself from his musing and looked at his friends. There was something different about them and, for a moment, he could not identify the change but then realisation dawned and his eyes widened in a mixture of disbelief and horror. "What have you done? Where are your pauldrons?"

"With yours," d'Artagnan answered simply.

"What? But you …" Lost for words, Athos looked from one to the other of his friends as they smiled broadly at him.

"We thought it'd make it easier to go searchin' for Treville," Aramis explained.

"But your commissions …" Athos almost groaned at their loss.

"And yours," Porthos reminded him. "We are brothers. Hasn't it occurred to you that that means more than even the regiment?"

There was a long pause as they thought about Porthos' profound comment but then d'Artagnan cleared his throat and brought them back to another reality. "What happens next?"

Without hesitation, three pairs of eyes turned on Athos in mute evidence of their acceptance of his leadership once more. "We set off at first light to look for Treville. In the meantime, we need to gather our belongings …"

"Already done," Aramis interrupted, "and stowed in a room at an inn not too far from here." When Athos raised an eyebrow quizzically, Aramis explained further. "Your sudden departure rapidly followed by ours has been somewhat sensational; Delacroix is bordering upon apoplectic."

"I wonder what Richelieu's reaction is going to be," Porthos said with a smirk.

"I would not want to be in his place when the Cardinal finds out," d'Artagnan asserted with his own smile at the prospect.

"But our final movements at the garrison were closely scrutinised and we had the feeling we were followed at one point so we have been careful since then," Aramis elaborated. "I strongly suspect we do not know everything though," and he looked meaningfully at Athos for clarification.

Having taken a mouthful of wine, Athos proceeded to tell them what had transpired in the office that had culminated in his resignation and why he was so determined now to ascertain what had happened to Treville. Events had taken a further sinister turn if Aramis was correct in their suspicion that they were being watched or followed. If Delacroix did have knowledge about the attack on the musketeer group, he would not want the _Inseparables _investigating and uncovering the truth so it was inevitable that the four of them were now in danger. They would have to watch their backs.

Athos drained his goblet. "We will not wait until morning; we leave tonight. The route west from Paris is well known to us, a full moon is expected and there is little cloud cover at present. With care, our mounts should be safe but it gives us additional time to put greater distance between ourselves, Paris and, by association, Delacroix. This brings us to a slight problem - we need horses."

"Consider it done," Aramis declared.

Athos studied him for a moment and then said, "I'm not going to ask."

"Good," Aramis grinned. "It's better you do not know as I would hate to have to lie to you."

"And our first destination?" Now they were decided upon some action, d'Artagnan was eager to learn specific details.

"Clairmont," Athos announced. "We pay our respects but, more than that, we ask questions of the villagers who exhumed the bodies and search the area as carefully as we can. They may have missed something important because they would not have considered its significance. Indeed, they would not have been looking for anything. We can discount the existence of any tracks; recent rains would have destroyed them. There is, however, something I need to do first. I will meet you in the fields beyond the west gate."

"The city gates will close in just over two hours," d'Artagnan warned.

"I'm hoping that I do not need that long but if I can't get out tonight, I will at first light. Wait for me there but if you sense any trouble, head straight to Clairmont. I will join you there as soon as I can."

"I can't say's I like this plan," Porthos said. "We should not be splittin' up right now, at least with no-one on 'is own. Wherever it is you're goin', I'm comin' too." The other two nodded their agreement.

Athos hesitated, "Very well. I am going to Treville's house." He retrieved the keys from his pocket and held them out to show the others before quickly explaining how he had come by them and why he believed he had been given them weeks before by their Captain.

"You reckon that whatever it is Richelieu wants is at Treville's house?" Porthos wondered aloud.

"It's the last possible place, unless there is something there that indicates another place of concealment. If there's nothing there, I don't know what else to do," Athos replied.

"We'd best get moving if we want to get out of the city tonight," Aramis reminded them.

They stood and, as unobtrusively as possible, left the inn, wary of those still wandering in the streets as dusk began to fall and watching for any unwanted company.

At the end of the street, they parted company, dividing into pairs with a handshake, a hand to the shoulder or an equally brief embrace as they gave muted words of advice to take care of each other and a promise to reconvene at the agreed spot as soon as possible.

Athos and Porthos were soon concealed in the shadows of a building at a junction and looked across at the modest townhouse almost opposite. Whereas the windows of homes around them began to glow with warm candle or lamplight, those of their destination were in complete darkness,

"Should there be anyone there?" Porthos asked.

"Treville's man, Pière. He's been the servant for years apparently. If he's there, he'll be in the rooms at the back so we would not see any light from here."

Porthos stood with his back flat against the wall and edged forward until he could surreptitiously look up and down the street. "Can't see anyone," and he began to move but Athos stopped him.

"I'm going alone. I need you to keep watch for me in case any of Delacroix' men come this way."

Porthos was not happy but he obeyed, finding a more conducive hiding place from where he could observe the front door to Treville's house as his friend approached it. Athos knocked and waited, turning his head to look up and down the street. When he thought that no-one was coming to the door, he took out the keys and was just about to try the largest in the lock when the front door opened a little to reveal an elderly, white-haired man with wide, terrified eyes and a flickering candle.

"Pière, it's me, Athos. Please let me in." Athos feared that the old man would either not remember him or be too nervous to admit anyone to the house in the evening. His concern was groundless as the old retainer stood back to open the door wider and grabbed Athos' sleeve to draw him inside. When the door was safely secured against the outside world, Pière, eyes filled with tears, greeted the ex-musketeer.

"Then it's true," the old man almost sobbed.

"What is?" Athos asked, concerned as the servant was visibly overwhelmed and shaking. Taking the man's arm to steady him, he led him through to the back of the house and into the kitchen which was illuminated by another couple of candles and a fire in the open hearth. On the table was a half empty plate of food; Athos had disturbed his evening meal.

Once restored to his seat and having supped at a tankard of ale standing beside the food, the old man had recovered enough to continue. "Somethin' as 'appened to the Master. The last time I saw 'im, 'e said that if anythin' 'appened to him unexpectedly, I was to wait and that you'd come but then that other one came an' started sleepin' 'ere."

"What man?"

"Can't remember 'is name. Stringy blond 'air; says he's the new captain but I thought that was you whilst the Master was away."

"Delacroix," Athos offered.

"That's the one. Nasty young 'un 'e is."

"You said he's started sleeping here?"

"Yeah, set to move in, 'e is. Says as how it's 'is right on account of bein' captain and that the Master don't need it no more. It's not 'is, is it?"

Athos was seething as he wondered just how low Delacroix could stoop. "No it's not, Pière. This house has nothing to do with the garrison or the role of leader of the regiment. This is Captain Treville's house that I'm sure he has got for his retirement, whenever that will be. Being a soldier, though, he would have made provision, a will declaring to whom he bequeaths his property. It does not, and never will, belong to Delacroix."

Pière was slightly mollified. "But the Master hasn't been back for so long. Where is 'e?"

"That I don't know but I have string reason to believe that he is alive and from now I'm spending all my time trying to find him. I think, though, that there is something of importance in this house that might help me. Captain Treville left me with a huge bunch of keys. The vast majority were for the garrison but then there were these," and he laid them out on the table. "Do you recognise them? Are they keys to any locks within the house?"

He waited patiently as the old man took them up one by one and held them close for inspection to compensate his failing eyesight.

"I know 'em for sure. That one there," and he indicated the largest, "is for the front door. The other two are used up in the Master's bedchamber. The fact he's given 'em to you means 'e trusts you an' now you've come just like 'e said so I reckon as how he wants you to know."

So saying, Pière slowly pulled himself to his feet, picked up a candlestick again and, beckoning for Athos to follow, led him out into the hallway and up the main staircase to the next floor. The ex-musketeer had had occasion to dine at the house before now and knew the general layout of the ground floor but this was the first time he had had the opportunity to explore upstairs. The furnishings and décor were very masculine throughout the house but showed a simplicity of line and taste without unnecessary extravagance.

The large bedchamber he entered was dominated by a dark wood four-poster bed with heavy drapes whilst other furniture included a carved chair with arms that stood at a writing table before the one window, a large chest, a bedside table and a tall cupboard. Wooden panelling made the room seem very dark but this was broken by two floor to ceiling tapestries adorning the walls on either side of the bed.

Without hesitation, Pière moved to the left of the bed and raised one side of the tapestry to reveal a door and a lock. "The middle key'll fit that," he instructed.


	35. Chapter 35

_**Goodness, I cannot believe that you have so generously posted over 200 comments now! Thank you so much, everyone; your continued support and encouragement is wonderful and I am delighted that you continue to follow the story. Today is a calm before the storm, or should I say a slight squall before a tempest! It's not quite as long as I anticipated as I decided to break events down a bit more. I also succumbed to a little sentimentalism at the end too - comes from re-watching two series one episodes last night, I expect!**_

CHAPTER 35

Athos did as he was bid and was not even aware that he was holding his breath as the key turned easily in the well-oiled lock and the door opened inwards to reveal a little panelled room hardly larger than a walk-in closet. Against the wall opposite the door was something that Athos had not expected to see - a small altar with a pristine white cloth and an ornate crucifix flanked by two metal candlesticks with candles. Before it was a prayer stool and Athos wondered how frequently it was used. Although Treville, like his men, attended a range of church services in the line of duty when accompanying the royal party and was expected as part of the King's regiment to defend Catholic doctrine and tradition, he was not a man who lauded his personal beliefs.

Having been raised a strict Catholic himself, Athos had turned his back on the way of life and God when his brother was murdered and he sentenced his wife to death. He would never be able to bring himself to deny God's existence but in recent years, he and the Almighty had followed divergent rather than convergent paths and he could not perceive that ever changing. Sometimes, he envied Aramis' unerring ability to balance the life of the believer with that of the soldier and he knew that the pull of the former was sometimes very strong to the point that, if he were honest with himself, he could envisage his friend one day answering that higher calling. He had lost count of the times when he had awoken from a drunken stupor, regained consciousness after an injury or tossed in a fevered state to hear Aramis softly intoning a Latin prayer over him and he had to admit that he found it strangely comforting.

Now he was intrigued by the presence of the altar, not that he would ever presume to question the relationship between a man and his God, but he was reassured by the sight of the tortured features of the crucified Christ rather than the simple, empty, symbolic cross that might hint at more Huguenot sympathies given the reality of the hidden room.

His thoughts were fleeting for, as he took a step further into the room to enable himself to see it in its entirety, he saw the chest carefully positioned behind the door. Like the room, its dimensions were not big - barely two feet in length and one foot in depth and breadth - but it was ornately carved from walnut and boasted a small lock amongst the intricate decorations of hunting birds and trailing foliage. With a slight gasp, he dropped to his knees, inserted the key, heard the satisfied sound of the lock clicking and then he raised the lid to inspect the chest's contents.

On the top were some loose documents that, on closer inspection, were personal or related to the running of the house and Athos took care not to linger over the minutiae. Another folded parchment bound with ribbon proved to be the will which Athos had alluded to earlier. Beneath some more paperwork was a cloth-wrapped bundle which, when unwrapped, revealed a leather-bound volume. Athos sat back on his heels and opened the book to peruse the opening page, and then the next … and the next… It did not take him long to realise the importance of the handwritten text that he held, all of which had been penned by Treville in his unmistakable cursive style. If the remainder of the book followed in the same vein as the opening pages, there would be more than enough evidence to bring about the downfall of Richelieu. Treville had documented incidents, dates and sources with his characteristic precision and detail.

"Have you found what you need?" Pière suddenly asked, appearing unexpectedly at Athos' side.

"I've found exactly what I need. Captain Treville has been his usual organised self. This is invaluable."

"Is it what that Delacroix has been looking for then?"

Athos' face darkened as he stood up. "He has been searching here then?"

"He started in the Master's study but that took him a couple of evenings and well into the night. Then he went through the other reception rooms. I heard him goin' through stuff in here last night, throwin' the cupboard doors open and the like. Went out of here this mornin' with a face like thunder, 'e did."

"I rather think I have done nothing to improve his mood either."

"I don't want 'im 'ere but there's nothin' I can do about it , is there?"

"Sadly no, not at the moment but bear up, Pière."

"You really think the Master can be found?"

"In my heart," Athos said quietly, "I believe he is still alive. In truth, I don't know how much longer it will stay that way but I promise you I will find out what has happened to him if it takes my dying breath to do so."

"I know you will, young Master, and I thank you for it."

Athos shook his head. "Pière, I am no-one's master; I gave up on all that years ago."

"Forgive an old man his turn of phrase. It was the way I was raised to do my job an' how to address folk. You deserve the respect. I know the Master thought highly of you an' that's proved by him givin' you the keys; that's good enough for me. That other one'll never have my respect."

"Nor mine, Pière. We are united in that opinion."

Their musings on Delacroix' worthiness - or lack thereof – were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and noisily closing.

Pière froze in alarm as a voice slurred with alcohol bellowed throughout the building.

"Why's the place in darkness? Can't see a thing. Bring me some light, old man and hurry up about it. Where the hell are you? Get a move on!"

Even as the first word was uttered, Athos recognised that it was Delacroix.

"How does he have a key to the house?" Athos asked.

"He took mine. He must think that the Captain had his key with him," Pière explained.

"Come on, you lazy idiot! Earn your keep or I'll have you out on the street before morning," came Delacroix' threat from the floor below. Even as Athos bristled at the insult levied at the old retainer, footsteps suggested that the Captain was slowly ascending the stairs.

As Pière began to panic, Athos grabbed his shoulder to refocus his attention. "Is there another way out of here?" The words were nothing more than a harsh whisper but the terrified man heard him and shook his head in reply.

Several thuds and a series of expletives indicated that Delacroix had lost his footing and fallen down several stairs but, to Athos' horror, another muted, conciliatory voice indicated that he was not alone.

"Lock yourself in the hidden room. I'll smooth the tapestry and answer to his needs. Perhaps he won't stay long," Pière said, recovering himself.

Reluctant to leave the old man to face the drunken Delacroix, Athos re-entered the small room, pulling the door to behind him and locking it. He heard the old man on the other side of the door and imagined him straightening the tapestry before moving towards the door. A hand automatically went to his belt for his pistol and found nothing; cursing himself for the worst kind of stupidity, he recollected that he had been unarmed when he had gone to see Delacroix to give him Fallon's news and had subsequently stormed out of the garrison. He only hoped that when his friends had gathered up his belongings along with theirs, they had retrieved his weapons for him. Now, though, he had nothing with which to defend himself. He was distracted by an outbreak of noise in the room beyond his hiding place and was intrigued to discover that with his ear pressed close to the door, he could hear most of what was being said, thanks to Delacroix' strident voice.

"What are you doing skulking around here, you old fool?" he demanded.

"I was doing my rounds of the house, Sir, like I do every night. Force of habit, you might say," Pière explained.

"I'm going to change my shirt. Go and get me some water and a cloth so I can wash this blood off and then bring us some brandy and a couple of glasses," Delacroix insisted.

Athos heard the old man mumble a response and the cupboard door opening and Athos, with an indescribable burst of anger, surmised that Delacroix was retrieving a shirt; he had either moved in some of his belongings already then or he was helping himself to something left by his predecessor!

"How did you get a cut lip?" the second voice asked and Athos identified it immediately as belonging to Bertram.

"Richelieu had the audacity to strike me," Delacroix complained. In his semi-drunkenness , it sounded more like a schoolboy whine.

"Strike you? What for?"

"Some tell-tale had rushed to inform him about Athos and the others leaving."

"Well," came the sober voice of reason, "he was bound to find out sooner or later; better the sooner if you ask me."

"I didn't ask you!" came the petulant response. "And there was me thinking that Maline was the informant. I obviously got that wrong or else there's someone else now who's turned traitor."

"One of the hazards of taking on a leadership role; there will always be those coming behind who want to further their own careers and if they perceive a leader to be either incompetent or ineffectual, they will seek to replace him."

Athos' blood ran cold. As he listened to Bertram's cold pronouncement, he was fairly sure that he had realised something to which Delacroix remained oblivious – Bertram was the new informant. Although he had no time for Delacroix and hated him for recent events, he still felt some sympathy for the man for it was painfully obvious that he had no-one whom he could seriously call a friend and certainly no-one on whom he could depend.

It was not that he had never realised it before but something came back to Athos in very sharp focus. The Comte de la Fère may have turned his back on his title, wealth, property and responsibilities but he had to consider himself an exceedingly rich man in what mattered most – one of whom was waiting in the street and the other two who were rallying to meet him outside the city.


	36. Chapter 36

**_Tried to get this done for Friday but gave up gone midnight that morning and was very unhappy. I felt it was a very mediocre chapter and you all deserved better so I didn't post. Revelation dawned a few hours later and another development clarified itself for a weekend re-write. This chapter heralds the beginning of what I see as the final third of the story and we hurtle towards the denouement but - and I hope you'll agree - there is still time for a few more surprises over the next few chapters, including this one._**

CHAPTER 36

Pière returned, apparently with the water and a cloth and just as quickly departed to fetch the requested brandy and glasses although in his presence, the two musketeers fell silent. The moment they were left alone, their conversation resumed.

"So what will happen now?" Bertram inquired.

"Richelieu says we have to find Athos. Find him and the others will not be far away but the Cardinal says he is the dangerous one, especially as he persists in his idea that Treville lives," Delacroix said.

Athos could hear water being wrung out into a bowl and he guessed that the Captain was bathing his cut lip and cleaning off the blood. On the one hand, it was not very comforting to know that Richelieu wanted him tracked and found but on the other hand there was a sense of amusing irony that the man they sought was mere feet away behind a piece of wood less than two inches in thickness. The smile that twitched at the corners of his mouth froze at Bertram's next words.

"Supposing he finds him?"

"If I had my way, I'd make sure that he did. The prospect of saving Treville would ensure that Athos was lured there and then hang the Cardinal's orders, I'd make sure that both of them met their end!"

In his hideaway, Athos slumped against the wall and silently slid down until he was sitting on the floor in mute shock.

"Why does the Cardinal keep Treville alive anyway?"

"He has me searching for documents. He doesn't even know if they really exist but, for some reason, he suspects that Treville has information that could damage his reputation and he wants me to find them. The Captain does not know that the Cardinal is behind his capture. The Red Guards that are with him are the most disreputable of Richelieu's men and are not wearing his colours so that they cannot be identified as such. Massart and Maline also guard him but have been instructed never to let him set eyes on them. Possibly, if the documents are found and the evidence destroyed, the Cardinal will feign a 'rescue' and appear the hero and saviour of the hour so that Treville will, for the near future at least, be indebted to him. Even I'm not privy to his deepest plans."

"But why keep Athos alive so long?"

"I don't really know but I construe that the Cardinal has a grudging respect for the Comte de la Fère although I believe he has made a grave mistake in this instance." The animosity of Delacroix was palpable.

"So," Bertram began, "let me make sure I am understanding this. You don't know where Athos is but you want him to find out where Treville is being held captive so that he'll go after him, you'll pursue him or lie in wait and then kill them both."

"That's about it."

There was a long pause before Bertram spoke again. "I do see a flaw in the plan."

"And that is?"

"With Athos gone from the regiment, how does he find out where Treville is?"

The response was scathing but vague. "We find him first and then we'll worry about how he is to be fed the relevant information."

"How do you know he hasn't already discovered where the Captain is being held and gone there since walking out this afternoon?"

"Who would have told him? How could he have known? He certainly wouldn't have thought of the place all by himself. It's little more than a ruin in parts. No-one would be expected to hide away there. Anyway, it can still be defended so the group guarding Treville can hold out for as long as is needed. We can be there in a day to relieve them."

With a sense of elation, Athos was assimilating all the information he was hearing. For the first time in weeks, he had a lead as to Treville's whereabouts and all he needed to do was head off and find him. He fervently wished that Delacroix would hurry up and leave.

"All that remains is for us to get there first and kill Athos as he tries to rescue Treville, who, unfortunately, will also die in the attempt and we had better make sure we wipe out the rest of the Inseparables whilst we are at it. I can't imagine that they would let the matter rest; they'd be out for revenge so we need to ensure that we tie up all the loose ends."

There was suddenly an audible gasp and the sound of breaking glass. Pière had returned and, in shock at what he had overheard, dropped at least one of the glasses he was bearing.

"You old fool! How long have you been standing there? Don't you know you shouldn't listen in to conversations that don't concern you?" There was an irony in Delacroix' outburst as he seemed to have forgotten his treatment at the hands of Richelieu when he overheard the Cardinal's exchange with Athos some two weeks earlier.

Athos was horrified as he heard, in quick succession, a blow being delivered, a mingled cry of pain and fear, more breaking glass, a crash and then the thud of a body hitting the floor. As unarmed as he was, his hand was reaching for the key when he heard Bertram's shout.

"What have you done?"

"The old man heard us talking. He will learn from his mistake and not do it again," Delacroix was totally remorseless.

"It's too late for that," Bertram said and there was a pause before he spoke again. "The old man's dead. When you struck him, you caught him off balance. He fell and hit his head."

In his hideaway, Athos shut his eyes and breathed deeply as he tried to still an all-consuming mixture of cold anger at what Delacroix had done unnecessarily, grief for the old retainer and guilt that he had been in concealment when the helpless man had met his death.

"We can use it to our benefit." There was an undisguised note of excitement in Delacroix' voice.

"How so?" Bertram asked.

"Everyone knows that Athos is convinced that Treville is alive; he acts like a mad man in the face of the truth. Now he has resigned his commission, people will think that he has done that to ensure that he will have the time to search for the Captain. It is understandable that he should start here in the house for any clues as to the Captain's whereabouts. He was admitted by Treville's servant, insisted on searching the building and, when said servant tried to deter him, he grew violent and killed the man with a blow to the head. That gives us an excuse for a manhunt. We track him down, arrest him, feed him the information about Treville somehow and facilitate his escape."

"And how are you going to prove it is him?"

"He will have dropped something incriminating in his haste to depart. I know his friends have grabbed some of his belongings as they departed today but there must be something that remains in his room at the garrison for us to prove it if the powers that be will not take our word for it. I would like to think that is unlikely for, as musketeers, we are honourable men and what we say should be accepted as such," and he gave a scornful laugh.

"We need to be gone from here then," Bertram advised, "and decide upon a reason that might have called one or both of us back here to visit the property and make the gruesome discovery."

"You're right. It's dark now; we should slip away and return in the morning after we've made it known where we are going. For tonight, it seems I'll have to make do with that dreadful cot in the corner of the office," and he laughed again.

Athos listened as their footsteps and voices died away before unlocking and opening the entrance to the secret room. He heard the front door opening and closing and waited; there was nothing but silence. Leaving the sanctuary of the little room, he crouched beside Pière's body and touched his neck to try to detect a pulse but there was nothing. The indentation in the right temple and discoloration indicated the damage that had been inflicted on the man, abruptly curtailing his life.

Suddenly there was a creaking noise from the stairs. Athos quickly retrieved one of the candlesticks from the altar having pulled out its candle and, holding it at shoulder height, prepared to wield it like a weapon as he moved slowly and noiselessly to one side of the open doorway. Standing with his back to the wall, he raised the candlestick so that he could swing it with maximum force at whoever was approaching.

A figure was stealthily making its way along the landing to the room where he was hiding, pausing to look in the other chambers along the way. At last it reached the doorway to where he was and he gripped the candlestick tightly, his heart pounding as he prepared to lash out.

"Athos," a voice hissed. "Athos, are you there?"

Athos stepped into view in the doorway and Porthos let out a surprised yelp.

"What are you doing here? How did you get in?" Athos demanded.

"I used the back entrance; it was unlocked. I saw Delacroix and Bertram enter the house and thought you might need some back-up." He glanced down at the body on the floor and frowned. "Hey isn't that …?"

"Yes, Pière, Treville's old retainer."

"What happened?"

"Delacroix hit him, he lost his balance and hit his head."

"So in other words, he killed him," Porthos said in disgust.

"Yes, and to make it worse, he's worked out how to set me up for it," Athos explained.

"What?"

"We need to get out of here. The gates will be closing soon and I cannot be found within the city. I'll explain more on the way." Athos returned the candlestick to the altar, replacing its candle. Then he slid the leather bound book safely inside his doublet as he closed the door to the hidden room, locked it and smoothed the tapestry. Blowing out the candle that Pière had set down on the writing table, he and Porthos felt their way down the stairs and let themselves out of the building.

They ran through the streets, keeping to the shadows and slipped through the gates as the keepers were about to shut and lock them. Ignoring the men's calls to them that they would not be able to re-enter until the next morning, they headed down the road and into the bushes that edged the open land.

Eventually Porthos, who led the way, ground to a halt and both men, fit though they were, doubled over, hands on knees as they gasped for breath. Recovered enough, Porthos gave a low whistle and there was an immediate answering bird call. He grinned at Athos and, drawing his pistol as a precautionary measure, moved into the open. From a clump of trees to his left, a figure emerged. In the moonlight, his grin broadened and he fixed the pistol on his belt again as the approaching man became recognisable as Aramis.

"Where's d'Artagnan?" Athos whispered, his eyes never still as he surveyed the land around them for any sign of Delacroix or his men.

"He's with the horses and the others," Aramis answered.

Athos fixed him with a stare. "What others?"

Aramis did not answer but turned to look back towards the trees where he had been concealed and gave another whistled signal.

Nothing happened initially and then d'Artagnan rode into view leading three horses by their reins. After them there came another rider, and then another, and then more.

Athos' jaw dropped as, speechless, he moved towards the group, counting the mounted men and recognising every one of them. Behind d'Artagnan were twenty-three musketeers.

"What is going on? What are they doing here?" Athos asked.

"They, too, have resigned their commissions. They are here to follow you," Aramis declared, thinking Athos would be pleased.

The reaction was the total opposite.

"What? I don't believe this! I have been set up for murder and Delacroix is going to start a manhunt in the morning. These are our horses you've brought; they're from the garrison stables so now we will be wanted for mass horse theft. If twenty-seven of us have resigned our commissions in one fell swoop, we have depleted the regiment by almost a third. We have little or no money for ourselves; how will a group this size survive? How will we eat? You say they're here to follow me. Follow me where? I'm not creating an alternative army. There is danger enough if we four stay together but if Delacroix and the Cardinal assume – correctly – that these men are all with me, I'll be wanted as a renegade too. If Delacroix doesn't succeed in killing me according to his plan, I'll be facing a death sentence anyway." He closed his eyes and groaned. "This day just keeps on getting better!"


	37. Chapter 37

_**Hi, I am SO sorry about not uploading this chapter for a week. Thank you for waiting. This is dedicated to newbeginning15 with birthday greetings for last Saturday. Work is so manic and is not likely to get any better this week so I hope to be more regular with postings from next week onwards. I am not deliberately trying to stretch out the ending!**_

_**Anyway, here we are with Athos and his 'army'. The last part is no Shakespeare's 'Henry V' but I have tried. He speaks more in one go than he does in most episodes!**_

CHAPTER 37

It was shortly after two in the morning when Athos called a halt to their progress and allowed the men to get some rest, posting a four-man watch that changed every hour. They had travelled at a slow pace, not because of the number who journeyed, but because they did not want to endanger any of their mounts as a result of the terrain. It could have been disastrous if a hoof had been poorly placed in a rabbit hole, stumbling and throwing the rider. Athos had been correct when he said earlier that there would be a full moon and there was little cloud cover so their route was illuminated enough for them to put some distance between themselves and Paris and, more particularly, Delacroix.

Porthos tossed and turned on the ground and, with a frustrated sigh, struggled to find a comfortable position, eventually settling on his left side. He suddenly realised that Aramis, on his right side, was watching him.

"You reckon he's goin' to talk to us sometime soon?" Porthos grumbled, referring to Athos who had taken himself off to sit alone under a tree a few feet away. He had said little or nothing to any of them since their numbers swelled so dramatically.

Aramis raised himself up on his elbow to look over Porthos' supine body to where Athos brooded. "He'll come around. You know what he's like when he's mulling things over in his head; he's planning strategies, no doubt."

"Course I know what he's like when he's in one of his moods. I want to get him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him." Porthos rolled onto his back and looked in Athos' direction. "He can be his own worst enemy; doesn't need to go lookin' for more."

"His main aim is to hunt for Treville. I'm glad he's been vindicated there," Aramis said softly.

"Ssssssh," came the disgruntled voice of a soldier nearby who was desperate to get some respite.

"So am I," Porthos agreed, repositioning himself on his left side again so that he could whisper to Aramis. "All we have to do now is find him."

"At least we have some idea where to look; there can't be too many places that fit that description," Aramis said confidently. "It's a pity we didn't bring any maps with us."

"There was probably something of the sort at Treville's place but we were in too much of a hurry to get out of the house. We only just made it through the city gates as it was. Any further delay would have seen us stuck there until morning and that would have given Delacroix time to raise his false alarm and to have made sure musketeers were on the gate who could have recognised Athos."

"Do you think someone would have given him up?" Aramis wondered.

Porthos shrugged a shoulder. "Depends who it was. I think there would be musketeers who might have turned a blind eye and let 'im go but we don't know what kind of story Delacroix would tell them back at the garrison. He could turn some of 'em against Athos quite easily or brought pressure to bear and then if 'e used those new recruits, some of 'em could be too scared to do anything but follow instructions; they 'aven't been in the regiment long enough to really know Athos."

There was a long pause as both men lay there in the moonlight, reflecting on events.

"Do you think someone will show Pière some compassion and arrange a decent burial for him?" Aramis asked.

"I'd hope so," Porthos agreed. "Don't seem right somehow if he's relegated to a pauper's grave on account of no-one being around to speak up for 'im. 'E didn't ask for what 'appened to 'im an' he certainly didn't deserve it. That's one of the things that's been eatin' away at Athos since we left. He wanted to 'elp the old man somehow but if he'd stayed to do anythin', Delacroix might have discovered he really had been at the house an' it might have given him more evidence somehow to blame it on Athos. If he had any idea that Athos was in the house the whole time and was witness to what went on, I dread to think what Delacroix might think up as a result."

Aramis contemplated what Porthos had said. "I don't think this situation is going to have a good ending one way or the other."

"I reached that conclusion a long time ago. I know what I hope will 'appen an' if there's any justice in this world, it'll fall Athos' way but it seems as if anythin' goes at present. First thing we have to do is find Treville an' then get 'im to use that book that Athos has found to get rid of the Cardinal once an' for all. With him gone, Delacroix will fall as well, along with his hangers on."

"You think Athos'll let it go that far?" Aramis' voice was so low, Porthos almost missed the question.

"Meanin'?"

"He made us promise that Delacroix was his and he wasn't talking 'if'; he meant 'when'. If Delacroix is stupid enough to come after him now, especially when he is no longer a musketeer, neither you nor I will be able to stop him, even if we wanted to. Too many things have been done to him for too many years."

….

The first fingers of dawn started to claw their way across the dark sky as the men began to stir, coughing and stretching as they quickly became fully alert, the trait of the seasoned soldier. Having camped close by a stream, they refilled water skins and performed their ablutions in small groups before breaking their fast with the meagre supplies they had brought with them.

D'Artagnan approached Athos where he still sat beneath the tree, not having moved all night and serving as a fifth man on watch.

"Did you get any sleep at all?" the young man asked, growing perturbed when Athos shook his head. "At least eat something," and he held out a chunk of bread and cheese.

Athos shook his head again, "I'm not hungry."

D'Artagnan persisted. "It's going to be a long day. You'd best eat this now. Besides, Serge sent it. It was the least he could do, he said. He wanted to come with us but was afraid that he'd slow us down so Aramis and I persuaded him to stay at the garrison; we convinced him that he would be better used as our eyes and ears there and that we'd find some way to maintain contact with him for information. I don't know if that's at all feasible but it made him feel useful. When he saw how many of us were going, he went and emptied the stores of all the fresh bread, saying he'd start making more immediately, and the cheese. He said he was sorry that he couldn't give us any meat or anything more but Delacroix remains slow at signing off orders and he was worried he'd not have what he needed to feed the remaining men over the next few days." He gesticulated with the bread and cheese again. "You wouldn't want to upset him by turning down his food and the little he could do for us," he goaded.

Conscience pricked, Athos took what was offered and silently began to eat, suddenly realising that he was hungry after all. He would have to make sure that they spent some time hunting or fishing before the day was out; they would need to eat properly before darkness fell. With so many of them in the group, they needed to resource a lot to satisfy the needs of twenty-seven men but if all shared the responsibility, it might not be as hard as he anticipated even though they did not have too much time to devote to this.

Finishing his final mouthful, he stood and dusted down the seat of his trousers, approaching the bigger group with a resolve and determination that they had come to expect of him. They automatically fell silent, waiting to hear his first address since they had all joined together and what he had planned for the day. He surveyed them all, his face devoid of expression. When he spoke, he did not need to shout; he had their undivided attention and the resonance of his voice carried to them without problem.

"I ought to berate you all, make you turn tail and head straight back to Paris in the hope that too much damage can be averted, you can apologise for a mental aberration and perhaps be reinstated. At the very least the horses can be returned and you might be forgiven to go your separate ways. A risk nonetheless."

As the men waited, the normally reticent man of few words poured out his heart, uttering what was probably the longest pronouncement that they had ever heard him give in all the time they had known him.

"For all that, I thank you. I know that it cannot have been easy for any of you to resign your commission; it was not a decision I took lightly. There is danger ahead of us. By staying with me, you affiliate yourselves with someone who has fallen from favour and presents a real threat to Delacroix as Captain of the King's Guard. He is hunting for me, of that I am sure. I do not need to bore you with the finer details but he now wants to hang a murder on my head." Some of the men gasped audibly and looked at each other in disbelief. "I swear to you I am innocent of the deed; he is the one responsible but he is twisting the truth to his own ends and, in much of what he is doing, he has the backing of Cardinal Richelieu." This time there was a brief, angry response from his listeners.

"We know the regiment we have left is not the one we joined and have been so proud to be a part of in recent years. We must pray and believe that the damage done by Delacroix can be undone and that the brotherhood we have shared and known can one day be restored to full glory. Whether or not we will be members of that rejuvenated regiment remains to be seen. What I do know is that we have to find its rightful Captain and I now have incontrovertible proof that Treville is still alive."

The men erupted in noisy delight and he gave them time to settle, his stillness once more captivating them.

"Delacroix has some musketeers and soldiers of the Red Guard holding Treville in a partial ruin a day's ride from Paris. Information we have indicates Treville and his party were intercepted between here and a monastery they visited. Our first stop will be northwest of here at a village called Clairmont where the residents have found and laid our brothers to rest. We will pay our respects and search north of there for the ruin. We significantly outnumber those holding Treville and I expect that they will offer some sort of resistance, especially if they are able to fortify their stand point, nor do I want to endanger the Captain's life. I have to consider that they may have been instructed to execute their captive if they come under attack.

"I also anticipate that Delacroix will be heading in this direction with a sizeable force and we will be between the two. It is only right that I tell you this now. If there is any among you who does not want to proceed, leave now with my blessing and go in peace. If you stay, know that we will be hunted men and there will be a fight.

"There will be those amongst us who will fall so make sure you understand what it is for which you are fighting. We are neither a regular nor an alternate army but we are highly trained soldiers and that alone is enough to mark us as dangerous renegades. The powers that be will not even bother about putting a price on our heads and we cannot hope for the sympathy of the King when he has the voices of Richelieu and Delacroix feeding him their distorted messages.

"We must be prepared to lay down our lives in the search for truth. We win and return Treville safely to Paris, he can tell his story and be restored to his position. In him is our only hope of being pardoned and re-instated, should that be our desire. If we fail, we at least fall in battle. I, for one, will not be taken whilst there is breath in my body; being captured will only temporarily delay the inevitable – the executioner will be kept busy.

"Depending on the numbers that Delacroix brings with him, we must also face the uncomfortable possibility that we will have to face our brothers who have remained in the regiment, those who did not feel able to leave as you have done. We should not revile them for that decision and must recognise that they are following orders as we have done in the past.

"If you cannot accept that likelihood and know in your hearts you could not participate in the cutting down of those with whom you have trained, eaten, laughed and called friend, then go now. I do not hold it against you for it will be hard. I say again, go with my blessing."

Here he paused and looked at the body of men arranged before him, reading their expressions and body language. Not one shifted, not even to shuffle their feet in disquiet at his words. They looked back, their gazes unflinching and resolute.

Athos took a deep breath and straightened his back. "Then I am proud to ride with you and be able still to call you my brothers."

There was a murmur of assent amongst the men until one of them called out, "We're with you, Cap'n, right through to the end." As far as they were concerned, until Treville was once again sitting behind his desk in the garrison office, Athos was their one and only rightful commander. The resultant cheers of agreement that spontaneously erupted declared the men's support and commitment and it drew a rare smile of embarrassment from Athos. Porthos slapped him on the back and laughed at his apparent discomfort.

To cover that, he swiftly became business-like. "Make ready. We break camp in ten minutes. We head to Clairmont to pay our respects and then…," he paused for effect, "and then we go and get our Captain."


	38. Chapter 38

**_Greetings. Long chapter today and not a nice musketeer in sight. However, it has come to Louis' attention that he has lost a third of his regiment and he's not best pleased! Then, of course, there's Richelieu as well ... Enjoy!_**

CHAPTER 38

"What have you done to my regiment?" shouted Louis as he paced the library floor in uncontrolled rage. Known for his ability to throw an unpredictable tantrum when he could not get his own way or when he was aggrieved by some minor incident, it was a shock for Delacroix – and for Richelieu who stood nearby – to be confronted by his unbridled anger.

The King turned on Delacroix, his face puce and contorted in ugly fury as he stabbed in the Captain's direction with his forefinger. "_You_ have been in command for two weeks and lost me a third of my men!" The final words came out as more of a screech.

Delacroix stood nervously running the brim of his hat through his fingers, unsure of what he could do or say that had any chance of placating his monarch. He had failed miserably and stood, helplessly speechless, his eyes darting towards the Cardinal and appealing for help. The First Minister merely scowled; no help was forthcoming from there.

"Your Majesty, the wrongdoing has been led by the musketeer, Athos. Unable to accept that he had lost favour with you and thereby his command, he went out of his way to cause trouble for me, challenging my authority and causing dissension amongst the men," Delacroix tried to explain. He was not deliberately attempting to embroider the truth but recounting what he now perceived to be reality – his reality.

"But …" the Queen, seated in a chair, attempted to join the conversation but broke off from what she was about to say when her husband raised his hand in a signal for silence.

"My sweet," he began, his anger tempered as he spoke to her, "there is no need for you to trouble yourself with this, especially now. I can deal with this so why do you not take the time for some rest?"

"Sire, I would prefer to remain," she replied softly, wondering how best she could intercede on Athos' behalf.

It was two days since she had found the opportunity whilst dining privately with the King in his chambers to share with him what Porthos and Aramis had told her. She had described the injuries done to the man that had instigated his collapse in the throne room, an incident of which Louis had blissfully been unaware.

Patiently the Queen had reminded him of all the good work that the _Inseparables_ had done for him, their unquestionable allegiance to him and their devoted loyalty to their captain. He had listened as she recounted yet again how Athos and Aramis had fought to protect her at the convent. They were familiar faces at court, perhaps even more so than many of the other musketeers, and she asked Louis if he had ever been aware of Athos being drunk whilst on duty.

With dessert spoon raised in his hand, Louis had paused and searched his memory. "No I cannot say that I have ever known of him being in that state," he had eventually conceded.

"If he has always fulfilled his duty as a musketeer, what right have we to question how he spends his leisure time? We may not condone his actions but I am sure that he cannot be the only musketeer who has had a surfeit of alcohol on occasions. Captain Treville would undoubtedly know of any weakness in the man's performance and yet he had no reservations in recommending Monsieur Athos to be his replacement in his absence," Anne had reasoned.

"It was always only a temporary measure, my dear," Louis pointed out.

"Exactly, and he rose to the challenge of that temporary command with no problems, especially when Captain Treville did not return as expected. Think of how he arranged and conducted all the necessary security for that dignitary's visit. It was faultless and you had nothing but praise for him. I remember you even said that when the Captain finally decided to retire, you would have no objection in promoting Athos on a permanent basis. That was all until the Cardinal and the current Captain told you otherwise. Why did you so readily accept their word?"

"He had been found drunk on duty and punishment was necessary. Now I personally feel that Captain Delacroix may have been somewhat excessive in his sentence but if that is what he deemed necessary in asserting his authority, then who am I to intervene?"

"You are the King and these men belong to your regiment. You have every right to intervene," Anne said softly.

"But I must be seen to have faith in my appointment to Captain of the regiment," Louis insisted.

"You didn't choose Delacroix yourself though, did you? He was Richelieu's recommendation." Very skilfully, Anne had sown a seed of doubt.

"He is the First Minister; I do expect him to give me advice," Louis reminded her in the Cardinal's defence.

"But why would he have so much apparent knowledge of individual musketeers, soldiers not of his regiment, and be able to wield such influence regarding them?"

Louis frowned as he thought for a few moments about what she had said; then his face broke into a delighted smile. "What an interesting question! You are a clever little thing, aren't you? I'm very glad you are my Queen with your skills of observation; with you and Richelieu by my side, how can anything go wrong? I miss Treville; we were an invincible group, the four of us," and he continued to smile benignly at her. "Shall I let you in on a little secret, my sweet?" he whispered conspiratorially.

She nodded encouragingly.

"I don't like the new Captain of my guard. He's a runt of a man with stringy blond hair."

Anne would have giggled at her husband's description had she not witnessed first-hand the cruelty of which the man was capable. That the Captain of the King's Guard could ill-treat one of his soldiers in such a manner was anathema to the Queen. Nothing could have primed her for what had occurred in the throne room and she would never erase from her mind the image of Athos' limp form being carried into the ante-room by Porthos nor the damage inflicted upon his back. This was supposedly a justified punishment ordered by his own captain and she wished that the King had seen what she had viewed rather than be fixated on the man's appearance but Louis had not finished.

"As an officer, he should be more careful about how he presents himself, set a good example to his men. Never had anything to complain about with Treville and his _Inseparables, _always immaculately turned out, except that day you say Athos collapsed. If I recall, I did not think he looked his usual smart self at court; I should have realised something was not quite right."

Anne nodded in agreement. "I have to concur. I really do not like the other man either and I am sorry for the day when he was promoted to captain for I am sure that he does not deserve the post. He has done Monsieur Athos a grave wrong."

Now Louis remembered the Queen's words in the midst of his rage as he rounded on Delacroix and felt a moment of triumph when he saw the officer blink rapidly in alarm and retreat a step in the face of the King's wrath. "How do you propose to maintain my safety? You have lost me many of my men. How can the remainder help to limit the lawlessness on the streets of Paris? You are nothing but an incompetent buffoon. Richelieu, I fear you have been mightily deceived by this man for he has no capacity for leadership. You, Sir, are no Treville and you are no Athos."

Delacroix could have accepted the King's insult regarding Treville for he had never believed himself on a par with the Captain but to say that he was no match for Athos, combined with the similar slights received from Richelieu, was too much for Delacroix to take; it was the ultimate affront to his pride and fuelled his hatred for the ex-musketeer.

"But this Athos, Your Majesty," Delacroix was speaking through gritted teeth, "has probably got these men with him; they are following him in whatever he is planning as he foments unrest. We must apprehend him and bring him to justice. He has murdered once as I have already explained to Your Majesty."

"There is a lot of supposition in what you say, Captain," the King declared. "Where is your proof? You do not know whether or not these men are with him."

"We know that a large group left Paris by the west gate last night. The guards could not forget that many men leaving the city and they had taken horses from the garrison. If they stay together, they present a real danger."

"To whom, Captain? Who are they threatening and why? I cannot believe they would turn upon me, their King." Louis' face darkened as he demanded some response.

Delacroix could not answer and the colour drained from his face with mortification, leaving him with a sickly pallor vaguely reminiscent of an overworked pastry.

Louis' eyes narrowed and a level of regal authority and dominance seldom seen radiated from him. He lowered his voice, past the initial unrestrained outburst and his words cowed the hapless Captain.

"I have been informed that you have not handled garrison routine with skill, that you have upset – nay, even offended many of the men and, through it all, there is this ongoing conflict with the musketeer Athos whom you have flogged and imprisoned. I have never known of such sanctions needing to be imposed upon any of my musketeers and this troubles me greatly. If there is truth in these reports, I question your ability to lead these men."

"You have been misinformed, Sire," Delacroix' voice sounded strangled. "Who has told you these things? Let me put the record straight."

Louis was apoplectic once more. "You dare to suggest that the Queen has misinformed me?"

Delacroix was panic-stricken. "I would never presume that Her Majesty would deliberately give you false information, Sire, but I would propose that someone else has misdirected her."

At that accusation, Anne rose from her seat with as much dignity as her expanding waistline could muster. "I tell you now, Captain, that I heard of what has transpired at the garrison from some of your men."

"If that included Athos then he was …" Delacroix began to plead that Athos was lying.

"No, Sir," the Queen interrupted, her beautiful features sculpted into a mask of cold determination. "I heard nothing from Athos himself. To his credit, he did not wish to divulge anything to me, not even when I questioned him in the throne room where you had given orders to him to remain on a guard duty that was both pointless and ridiculous. How he stood there for as long as he did is beyond me! I saw him collapse and I saw the result of your punishment. How could you do that to a fellow human being and soldier?"

In the face of his Queen's ire, Delacroix struggled to find a suitable answer. "It was deserved. He is a formidable trouble maker."

"Then find him, bring him back and we will question him," Louis insisted.

"What?" Delacroix asked forgetting himself, his manners and usual court protocol.

"Come, man. I am sure you heard me aright. Find this Athos and bring him here, that we might examine him and affirm his troublesome nature," Louis pressed. "We will discuss this again when you have brought him here. Make haste, we do not like being kept waiting." Without more ado, Louis extended his arm to his Queen and led her from the library.

His audience with his First Minister and Captain of the King's Guard had come to an abrupt and inconclusive end.

When the doors were closed upon the royal exit, Delacroix shuffled nervously as Richelieu gave him a withering glare.

"Do you honestly think that I recommended you to His Majesty because of your ability to lead?" the Cardinal hissed.

Delacroix shook his head mutely, wishing to be anywhere in Paris but here with the First Minister and his undisguised anger.

"Good. At least we are agreed on one thing. I gave you a task that was simple. Search Treville's office for paperwork that was detrimental to me in any way. If you could not find it there or anywhere else in the garrison, you were to turn your attention to his house. This was straightforward but you had to combine this with your incompetence and your long-held dislike of the musketeer Athos.

"As a result, you have successfully divided the regiment. In part, I suppose I should thank you. That puts me one step closer to being able to put an end to the musketeers as a separate entity and absorb them into my Red Guards but, in the meantime, we have a renegade group running amok who could be our undoing.

"You will find this man and those who ride with him and you will destroy them all. Under no circumstances are any of them allowed to live and be brought back to Paris. Athos has enough of a reputation and experience to put forward a convincing argument that he has been severely wronged by you. I have maligned him but it would not stand close scrutiny and we have just heard how the King and Queen begin to doubt your pathetic and unjustified actions. Indeed, His Majesty even questions my choice in putting you forward. I will not have the King doubt the verity of my guidance or recommendations and certainly not as a result of your behaviour. Go to that door and summon the Captain of my guard who waits without."

Meekly, Delacroix obeyed the instruction. Nothing more was said until Captain Roland was admitted and the two men stood side by side as the First Minister paced thoughtfully before them. The differences between the two soldiers was incongruous. Whilst one stood confidently to attention, the other appeared broken and desperate; one was tall, unmoving and dark with a piercing, blue-eyed gaze whilst the other, shorter, blond, anaemic-looking with watery eyes of a non-descript hazel, shifted uncomfortably with the fearful realisation that his position was compromised and he faced a very real peril. He was caught in a potential pincer movement between an enraged, justice-seeking Athos on the one side and a furious, dangerous Cardinal Richelieu on the other.

Richelieu ceased his pacing in front of Delacroix. "You understand Athos will not stop now until he discovers any information relating to Treville; he has the time and the man power, thanks to you. You've said all along that he believes the man to be alive still. For all we know, he has acquired some evidence to support this strange obsession and, as we are aware, he is correct in that assumption. You have succeeded in underestimating him from the beginning and I have no doubt that he would find Treville. He knows where the other bodies have been buried and he would begin there, leaving no stone unturned in his search. It is only a matter of time.

"He must not be allowed to find the Captain. You will set out immediately with a force for where Treville is held. I have known the man for years and although we do not particularly like each other, I do have a grudging respect for him; he is good at what he does and now you, through your ineptitude, have signed his death warrant,"

"Me? What have I done?" Delacroix bleated, terrified. He was forced to admit that he had nothing against Treville himself. The man had always been fair, save for his inexplicable preference for Athos, and he did not want to be held responsible for the older Captain's premature demise. He had no such reluctance where the Comte de la Fère was concerned though.

"I might well ask the same question," Richelieu all but sneered. "What have you done that you have been asked to do? Absolutely nothing. You have achieved nothing productive. Instead, you have created further difficulties. Let Athos and Treville meet again and they will confer and wonder and deduce that you are behind all that has transpired and I am very much of the opinion that were they to apply a little pressure, you would quickly incriminate me." At this point, Richelieu had edged forward and loomed over the musketeer, his expression threatening.

"No, no, I wouldn't. I …."Delacroix began.

"Silence!" Richelieu snapped. "I am going to give you one final opportunity to redeem yourself."

"Of course, anything you say. I can do it," the musketeer hastened to convince the Cardinal.

"Ssssh,"Richelieu sounded, index finger laid upon his lips. "You will leave today at the head of a group of thirty men, fifteen of whom will be Red Guard who are answerable to Captain Roland here. For the sake of clarity in orders, he will follow your leadership. First you are to go to where Treville is and you have him killed, eliminating all evidence that he was ever there and then you stay away until you have apprehended and wiped out Athos, his friends and the others who put up resistance. Then and only then can you return to Paris."

"But what about the King? The musketeers? What can I say I am doing that keeps me away?"

"I will make your apologies to the King and offer to temporarily supervise all that remains of the musketeer regiment. He will be given to understand that whilst you have been investigating, further evidence has come to light that increases the risk the renegade Athos and his soldiers present to France and, in particular, His Majesty. That same evidence will suggest that, given his disgruntlement, the ex-musketeer has sought communication with the Spanish and you will not rest until he is stopped. The King already believes Treville is lost so now that will become fact, a little late but it ties up loose ends. You have not found the documents I believe he has so the knowledge of their whereabouts dies with him. There are to be no errors this time. Do you understand?"

Delacroix mumbled his acquiescence and, with a nod, Richelieu dismissed him. Watching him go, the Cardinal called back his own Captain to issue a final instruction.

"Roland, I want you to do something for me."

The Captain inclined his head and listened attentively.

"You allow Captain Delacroix to believe that he is in command but be ready to assume control. The man is incompetent. The matter of Treville must be dealt with swiftly and, dare I say it, sympathetically. I had not envisaged it would come to this but, well, needs must. However, I would not have the man suffer unduly; he does not deserve that. I have the distinct feeling that Athos will be an entirely different matter. Make sure the job is done properly for I do not believe Delacroix is capable of doing so."

"It will be done," Roland vowed and made to leave.

"Oh and Roland?" Richelieu waited until the Captain paused and gave his undivided attention again. "Once Athos and his followers have been silenced, if Delacroix still stands, kill him too. The man has outlived his usefulness."


	39. Chapter 39

**_Hope you'll forgive the brevity of this chapter but, given some of its information, I wanted to save that development for Chapter 40 which should, I trust, cheer up a lot of you! Haven't thanked you all for a while but your continued feedback really motivates me and I am still astounded that the favourite and follows numbers continue to climb. To all of you and, at this time. especially those with whom I can't communicate directly, many heartfelt thanks._**

CHAPTER 39

The group of men had made good time as they rode north-west. Four hours in the saddle under cover of darkness and a further seven since early light with one brief stop late morning meant that they had almost reached the village of Clairmont. The weather was kind, the sky cloudless and the sun shining. The lie of the land was such that they had climbed an undulation east of a heavily wooded area and Athos was not the only one to wonder if this had seen the hasty burial of their comrades. They reined in at the crest of a low hill and surveyed the collection of buildings in the distance. A sudden flash as the brilliant sun hit flowing water indicated that the village nestled near a narrow river.

"That must be it then," d'Artagnan said quietly.

"It has a pleasant aspect," Aramis observed, ever trying to find the positive.

Athos moved in the saddle, stretching slightly to ease stiffened muscles and winced as a stab of pain down his back was a stark reminder of his still-recent mistreatment. It did not pass unobserved.

"I haven't checked your back or changed the dressings since the day before yesterday," Aramis frowned. "How do you feel?"

"Not bad. Dressings do not feel as if they have stuck. If anything, it feels better with each passing day. It does not help, though, when a friend slaps you enthusiastically between the shoulder blades," and he looked at Porthos with a wry grin.

The big man furrowed his brow at the accusation and then his eyes widened as he realised what he had done that morning when Athos had ended his speech. "I'm sorry," he said hastily.

Athos gripped his upper arm, his smile broadening. "Apology accepted. I knew you had forgotten and there's no harm done. You can make amends by riding with me into the village. I don't want to alarm the people by riding in all together; I think it is better, as you and I have met Robert Fallon, that we see him first and prepare the way for our visitation."

Decision made, the main body of the men retreated to the tree line and took cover whilst several were deployed at strategic points to watch the open land and the route they had travelled in case they were already being followed. They could not risk waiting on higher land, outlined against the sky.

A little while later, Porthos and Athos rode slowly side by side into what appeared to be the centre of the village. Glancing about them as they went, they watched the curious villagers emerging from a range of buildings and homes to follow them down what would have passed as the main thoroughfare but there was no sense of alarm. As the area between the houses opened out, the men dismounted and waited quietly as no-one approached them, willing to be the first to speak. It was merely seconds though before they espied Robert Fallon speeding towards them from what resembled a barn, wiping his hands on a leather apron as he moved. He greeted them with a smile and extended hand which each man shook in turn.

"Athos, Porthos, I am glad to see you although I did not expect you so soon. You are welcome even if it is sadness that brings you to us. Come, take some refreshments with us after your journey and I will introduce you to our village elders. Then I will take you to your comrades."

"Thank you, Robert," Athos replied. "I have to tell you that we are not alone. There are twenty-five more men waiting over the rise in the woods."

"So many?" Robert was surprised and quickly collected himself. "Bring them here; they are all welcome. Of course they would have come to pay their respects."

"There's more to it than that but I will explain whilst Porthos goes to get them."

As Porthos sprung into the saddle and hurried off to bring the rest of the group, Athos was led by Robert into a building that seemed to be a community area. Athos accepted the invitation to sit down on a bench at a log table as a cup of ale was set before him and a group of men quietly materialised. Robert introduced the elders as each offered their condolences at the heavy musketeer loss and Athos expressed his sincere thanks for all that the villagers had done. He answered questions about the journey the men had taken and, when he saw Robert's eyes alight on his shoulder where the pauldron had been, he gave a brief explanation as to why he and all the approaching men had resigned their commissions and emphasising that they now sought their missing comrade whom they knew to be alive.

As an afterthought, and because the others had not yet arrived, he asked Robert and the elders if they knew of a place where Treville could be held and shared the description he had. At first, heads were shaking, no-one able to offer any ideas but then, as they considered his question more closely and they discussed it between themselves, they recalled a possibility from a rare journey to beyond the village linked with a story one ancient elder had heard from his uncle years before. It was obvious that the villagers had little reason to venture far from home which made Robert's mammoth journey alone to the garrison in Paris all the more incredible and to be much valued.

Listening to their accounts and comparing them with what he knew, Athos was prepared to accept the suggestion as a starting point, especially when he discovered that the purported ruin was only another twelve miles north of the village; they could be there by nightfall.

At the sound of horse's hooves, Athos and Robert went back out into the sunshine to greet the new arrivals. There was a moment of poignancy when Athos saw the formation in which the men rode; old habits were going to be hard to break as the men were automatically in the organised pairs with which they were familiar and well drilled. Athos recalled that the last time he had seen so many men riding like this had been the day of the dignitary's visit; that seemed so long ago. Now, to anyone less knowledgeable, they were the King's Musketeers making a grand entrance; to those who knew better, the absence of pauldrons on the men and regimental blue saddle blankets on the horses begged the question as to why they were missing.

The men reined in before Athos and dismounted, all in silence. Athos wondered if it was out of deference to the villagers so as not to alarm them by their sheer number and the fact that they were obviously fully armed or whether they had fallen into a subdued mood with the imminent prospect of their act of remembrance.

As the local men stepped forward to take the reins of the big animals and lead them to water, Robert called out another greeting and beckoned to the soldiers to follow him into the building. Once they were seated and served with ale, bread and cheese, the discussion naturally turned to their fallen brothers, how and where they had been discovered and the reverence with which the villagers had treated and buried the bodies.

Athos stood to one side, leaning against a wall, his arms folded as he watched the men's reactions on being told what had transpired. He and Porthos had already heard the narrative from Robert and had, in turn, imparted that information to d'Artagnan and Aramis but it was important that the men hear it all and especially from those who had been involved. They listened with a respectful stillness and asked the questions they felt were necessary for they needed closure. He could explain to them later what he knew about Delacroix and his supporters' involvement in the deaths of their colleagues and the disappearance of Treville.

Then came the inevitable moment when they filed out towards the graves, escorted by Robert and the elders. He indicated the line of six with their markers.

"We will leave you now, you and all your men; you do not need outsiders with you. Take your time; there is no hurry," and Robert was gone.

The ex-musketeers instinctively surrounded the six graves and stood in silence, heads bowed, hats in hands and eyes lowered as they said their personal goodbyes. It was a strange situation as they did not know who was in which grave but they contented themselves with a collective farewell.

Eventually, Athos stepped forward and spoke, "Brothers, you did your duty as musketeers to the last. You did not deserve to meet your end in this way and certainly not when your foe were fellow musketeers. You were victims of the ultimate betrayal but you fought with honour. Your deeds will never be forgotten and although you do not lie with your other brothers in the garrison cemetery, know that you will be watched over and cared for by these people. We leave you in their keeping, reassured that your final resting place will want for nothing. Although we are no longer musketeers ourselves, your names will live on in our hearts and minds, as will the circumstances surrounding your sacrifices. When the time comes, we will ensure that the rest of the regiment knows of your courage."

He looked in Aramis' direction and nodded, signalling to his friend that now was the time for the pre-arranged prayer.

Aramis cleared his throat and began, his voice strong and unwavering as he performed one last, valuable service for his fallen comrades. "Oh Lord, we commit into your keeping these, our brothers, and ask that you forgive them their sins. We pray that they knew your presence with them in their final moments and that their suffering was brief. May they rest now in the knowledge that their days of duty are over; they will be sorely missed but always remembered. We ask that those who brought about their premature deaths will stand before you soon in judgement. These things we ask in your name, oh Lord. Amen."

There followed a chorus of 'amen' and the men began drifting away from the grave sides until only Athos and Aramis remained.

"Thank you," Athos said, replacing his hat on his head.

"It's the least I could do."

"I was thinking, once we've found Treville and if we pass this way again, we could visit the monastery where they stayed. From what you say, Father Benedict would like to know that Treville is safe and, perhaps, we can make arrangements for a mass to be said for their repose."

A little surprised at the unexpected suggestion, Aramis smiled. "I think that is a very good idea."

Athos remained serious. "I hope we do not have to add too many more names to that list by the time this is all over."


	40. Chapter 40

_**Okay, here is THE Chapter 40 and mega length too. I could have halved it but I did promise you some cheer. The maison forte described is actually an amalgamation of two real medieval French fortified manor houses with a little bit of descriptive licence on top. I hope you all enjoy and would welcome the feedback as usual.**_

CHAPTER 40

"Please stay with us tonight," Robert offered. "Share our food and you can sleep in here, under a roof, rather than in the open air." He had watched the large group of men filter slowly back into the centre of the village; their posture and facial expressions speaking volumes about their sombre and reflective mood and he desperately sought to ease their grieving. From what their leader had explained to him, it had not been an easy time for any of them and the fact that so many of them had elected to walk away from the prestigious regiment was deeply disturbing.

"I thank you for the hospitality you have shown to us already and all that you continue to do for our brothers but we cannot stay here," Athos replied. "We need to push on to the ruined maison-forte that you have suggested if there is a chance that we could reach it by nightfall. If it's not the place we seek we need to continue our search quickly. Besides, our presence here might endanger you if we are being pursued and I would not want to expose any of you to that possibility. When asked, you are to co-operate in all respects and tell them that we have ridden through. Give them our direction."

"We would not betray you like that!" Robert objected.

"I would not consider it betrayal," Athos insisted. "Under no circumstances are you are to take any risks on our account. We anticipate a confrontation at some point and if that comes sooner rather than later, then so be it."

"You will at least allow us to give you supplies for your journey then."

Athos hesitated. The village was not large and did not appear prosperous. Living off the land would not provide too great an excess and he baulked at depriving Robert and the villagers of valuable food. Hadn't the man said at their first meeting that he and his brother were hunting when they found the bodies of the musketeers? They could only have been supplementing their meat store in that event.

Robert saw him falter and guessed the reason. He smiled, "You will not refuse us in this; it is the least we can do. We cannot help you with the danger you face when you leave here but we can make sure that you do not have empty bellies when you do."

"We are grateful," and Athos dipped his head in acknowledgement.

It was less than thirty minutes later that the soldiers were threading their way out of the village through the throng of well-wishers who waved them off, a gathering that was in sharp contrast to the muted reception that Athos and Porthos had received only a couple of hours earlier. Several of the men had an additional food sack hanging from their saddles; when rationed, there would be sufficient for the evening and maybe even enough for the early morning.

Athos had spent the last few minutes with the elders as they tried to consolidate their fractured knowledge to give a better idea as to the location of the ruins. They were not able to give any specific details of what survived of the building but its rough position and the general countryside made Athos begin to believe that it was a likely place for hiding and offered some remaining opportunity for defence, if Delacroix had been correct in what he said. Athos wondered just how well it could still be fortified.

Out in open country once more, the men alternated between riding hard for a while and then allowing the horses a period of walking, not wanting to exhaust their mounts prematurely but eager to reach their destination before nightfall. When they had covered some ten miles, Athos sent men out in pairs to scout ahead and to both east and west to explore more land with the added instructions that they were not to take any unnecessary risks and were certainly not to engage with anyone unless they came under attack and had to defend themselves.

It was some thirty minutes later when d'Artagnan and another young man called Etienne raced back across the rolling ground to the main body of men. Athos raised his arm in a signal for the group to halt and they sat, waiting for the animated Gascon and his companion to join them.

Breathless, d'Artagnan shared his good news. "There's a copse about a mile and a half ahead. Clear that and there is a huge expanse of open land the other side. Sitting in the middle of it is a fairly large semi-ruin. Enough of it is intact to provide shelter and some means of protection. "

"We'll move on slowly up to the copse and wait for the scouting parties to re-join us," Athos decided.

"There's more," d'Artagnan could not restrain his wide grin. The additional news could only be good and Athos did nothing more than raise an eyebrow to invite the disclosure. "We heard horses. They were stabled to one side and out of sight but we definitely heard them, more than one."

Athos remained almost expressionless, appearing totally calm, but the barely perceptible clenching of his jaw was the tell-tale sign to his close friends that he was far from composed internally. They were so close to reaching Treville but what would they find when they got there? Would he still be alive or would they, cruelly, have arrived too late? The most delicate part of the operation remained – to overcome his captors swiftly with as few casualties as possible.

Athos' mind was racing as they moved slowly in the direction of the copse, enabling the scouting men to catch up with them again. The early evening light was beginning to fade as the soldiers guided their horses into the trees and negotiated their way between them before stopping as soon they decided they had enough cover.

Athos slid from his saddle, spyglass in hand and fighting to suppress a growing impatience as he wanted enough time to view their target before darkness enveloped the land. He was already walking towards the far edge of the trees as he continued to issue orders, his friends keeping pace with long strides as they listened.

"Porthos, with me. D'Artagnan and Aramis, see what food Robert has provided and ration it; if possible, leave some for the morning. Let the men eat but there are to be no fires and there is to be no unnecessary talking until I return. Keep the horses in the trees but closer to where we entered; it promises to be a clear, still night and if you, d'Artagnan, heard their few mounts, I do not want to run the risk of them being able to hear ours. Post guards with them and then I want a four-man watch along the line of trees guarding the route we came; that's to be changed every hour."

D'Artagnan and Aaramis merely nodded and fell back to fulfil his commands as he and Porthos weaved their way through the trees. It was as their cover began to thin out that the two men dropped to the ground and edged their way forward on their stomachs until a great expanse of countryside came into view and, in the middle, sat the ruin just as d'Artagnan had said. Ideally situated, there were no trees to provide cover on the approach and, as a result, they would be very vulnerable.

Bigger than he had expected, the damage to the property was extensive and he fleetingly wondered about the nature of the assaults on the maison forte that had partially destroyed it, although some of its defences were still very much in evidence. A deep ditch surrounded the site with the exception of a causeway that crossed from the land to what remained of an originally imposing gatehouse. The massive wall that provided a secondary defence ran round the internal line of the ditch but significant portions of its length had collapsed into mountainous landslides of rubble.

Through these massive gaps they could see an expansive grassed area before the fortified manor house. It was a long building, some three storeys in height had it remained complete. At a guess, looking at some of the architectural styles, Athos thought that the granite building stemmed from the late twelve hundreds but there had been some later additions over subsequent generations and the result was a chaotic mismatch. It could have been abandoned as recently as fifty years ago and he speculated on whether it had been a victim of the religious wars or simply an extreme disagreement between neighbouring lords. Whatever happened, some serious weaponry had been involved to inflict such damage. He raised the spyglass to his eye and studied the place closely.

A huge flight of stone steps, indicative of a former grandeur, led up to a vast doorway where no door survived. Huge glassless windows to the left looked in on what would have originally been the ground floor hall and to the left of them was a high, round tower that traditionally housed the external spiral staircase. Beyond that to the left was all that remained intact of the building. Porthos nudged Athos and pointed to the farthest window on the ground floor from where there came the tell-tale signs of flickering candle light.

From the entrance to the right, the roof and upper storey had ceased to exist; the skeleton of stone window frames and an end wall being all that were silhouetted against the pink and orange sunset. The last part of the building and of later design, as suggested by a difference in the stone's colouring, was a bizarre, hexagonal shaped tower that had somehow stood firm against the ravages of battle and time.

Lowering the spyglass, Athos tapped Porthos on the shoulder and indicated that the big man should follow him. Crouching now, they kept low and ran around the treeline until they were facing the gatehouse. One half was already ruined and if the huge cracks in the imposing façade were anything to go by, the rest seemed in imminent danger of collapse – although it could have been that way for decades. However, even as he watched, a large piece of stone broke away from under the arched entrance and crashed to join the debris lying below. It satisfied his mind that the construction was unsound and that no-one was likely to be within or on watch from its base.

It was only the jingle of a bridle, the soft whinny of a horse and the stamping of a hoof that alerted the group to their returning leader and Athos was delighted when he had heard no other sounds to speak of the whereabouts of the camp. He waited until Aramis had given him a hunk of bread, cold meat and an apple before signalling to the men to gather around him.

"There are signs of life at one end of the maison forte - candle light on the ground floor. Treville could be there or kept in darkness in an upper chamber. There was no indication of anyone being on watch anywhere which suggests a complacency on their part; they obviously think no one would find their hideaway and do not believe themselves in any danger. The main approach is via a causeway, across a deep ditch and through the gatehouse which is not a sound structure."

"Is that the only way in?" Aramis asked.

"In theory, yes, but with the extent of dereliction there could be other ways. The ditch has deep sides and we have no ropes but there are some places where, with a diversion from the gatehouse, we could scramble up and climb the rubble into the main yard area. We ran out of time and failed to reconnoitre around the back of the site before it grew too dark so we could have missed an opportunity there. Once in the yard, there is little or no cover with only one shell of an outbuilding to the left of the house. I suspect that that is where the horses are housed; we did not hear anything to the contrary.

"There is a big staircase up to the main entrance which sits between two undamaged towers. If they got themselves in those, we could be picked off with ease as we try to enter. They would still have considerable advantage if they only managed to barricade themselves in the round tower closest to the surviving chambers. I certainly do not relish the prospect of fighting on a spiral staircase so they have to be prevented from reaching there at all costs. There may not be many of them but Delacroix was right, it can still be defended."

"If we hold off long enough to see the back of the site, can we find enough points of entry that we can split up and attack?" d'Artagnan asked.

"We don't want to spread ourselves too thin though," Porthos pointed out.

"If we use multiple, co-ordinated attack points, that would help us in an element of surprise and we know speed is of the essence," d'Artagnan persisted.

"That gateway could be a worry. Apart from being unstable, it would funnel us through and make us vulnerable in its own way," Porthos continued.

"I think Athos has another idea," Aramis offered, watching his silent friend closely.

Athos gave a half smile. "The chances of our success would increase if we evened up the numbers inside the maison forte itself."

"How do we propose to do that?" d'Artagnan wanted to know.

"Not 'we' – me," Athos announced and, as the first rumblings of surprised objection began, he elaborated, "along with Davide, Clarence and Dupont. We get inside and that's immediately four against however many there are. We know it's only a handful of Red Guards and two musketeers. We should be enough to offer a diversionary tactic whilst the rest of you attack or you present the distraction for us."

"You're mad!" d'Artagnan exclaimed.

"Why can't I come with you?" Porthos demanded.

"How are you planning on getting inside?" Aramis inquired. "I can see by your expression that you have thought this through."

"Exactly!" Athos was warming to his own idea. "Massart and Maline know much of what has been going on but not what has transpired over the past few days so we feed _them _information. They have seen that Delacroix has wanted to make life awkward for me but they do not know how things have escalated. We are ahead of any communication so we need to use it to our advantage."

"How so?" d'Artagnan was puzzled.

"These three," and he indicated the men he had just named as he created the story, "are part of the manhunt for me as I am now a fugitive, having committed a heartless murder. They have been successful and are following Delacroix' orders which were that, once I was apprehended, I was to be brought here and held prisoner until Delacroix arrived with instructions as to what was going to happen to Treville and me. He does not want me back in Paris if his plan is beginning to unravel. These musketeers are well-known to Massart and Maline and are just three of the many who have since declared their wholehearted allegiance to the new captain and his régime. My capture is proof of that which is why you, Porthos, cannot come with me as you would never support him."

Porthos merely grunted but could see the sense in the arrangement.

"Early tomorrow, they ride up through the gatehouse and deliver their prisoner. At a pre-arranged time, we cause trouble on the inside and you simultaneously storm the defences."

"And if they decide to kill you at the first sign of opposition?" Aramis wanted to know.

"It's a risk but if I can get to Treville, two together are better than one!" Athos shrugged.

"Like I said, it's madness," d'Artagnan said, "but it might just work."

"Right, we need to get down to details but first, I'm going to eat and you," this last was directed to d'Artagnan, "can assess how well armed we are and the extent of our ammunition. We need to redirect resources to where they will be needed most."

The young man got to his feet and, with a broad grin, said very deliberately, "Yes, Captain."

Athos was thoughtful as he ate. "Pity we can't take out that odd shaped tower."

"Yeah well, we haven't exactly got any old siege machines or cannon with us, in case you hadn't noticed," Porthos pointed out.

Biting into his apple, Athos shrugged. "If it had been on the outer wall and we had time to tunnel and a few fat pigs, we could possibly bring it down."

Aramis and Porthos exchanged bemused glances and chorused, "What?"

"There was an English King – John - who laid siege to a castle in Rochester in 1215, built in the Norman style. He got men digging a tunnel under a corner of one tower and asked for forty fat pigs. For some reason they weren't considered good for eating," Athos explained.

"Fat pigs and they weren't good for eating?" Porthos could not understand that any food could be considered not good for eating.

"They were probably fine; it's just that the English can't cook," Aramis reasoned.

"So what did this King do with the pigs?" Porthos was intrigued now.

"He smeared their fat on the wooden supports and then set fires in the tunnels. The temperature got so hot, the fat burned and destroyed the wood so that the tower partially collapsed. It was enough for him to take the castle." Athos finished his tale and waited for the other two to respond.

Porthos frowned. "You worry me. How do you know somethin' like that?" he asked incredulously.

"My father made me study military history and strategy; he thought it might come in useful when I was the Comte and expected to supply a militia."

"Could 'elp you as a musketeer too. Though I don't reckon much to that idea. We don't have the shovels, we're short on pigs and it'd take more than a few hours to dig a tunnel," Porthos rationalised as Aramis struggled to maintain some composure.

Athos raised an eyebrow, "Perhaps it's an idea for a different day."

"Yeah," Porthos was sceptical. "I'll keep it in mind. I don't think I'll be able to forget it in a hurry; wonder what it smelt like."

Aramis couldn't contain himself any longer and laughed aloud at the thought.

…

The men were up with the sun and finished their meagre food rations; Robert had helped them for a few hours but they would have to hunt at some time for meat. Athos was completing saddling his horse when his friends approached. He reached inside his doublet and retrieved Treville's book.

"I need you to look after this for me. It cannot be found on me," and he handed it to Aramis.

"Supposing anything happens to me?" Aramis wondered. "Wouldn't it be better if I buried it safely before we leave the trees?"

"And if all of us were to fall? No-one would know of its existence," Porthos pointed out.

"I do not think we would be too bothered about the consequences if that were to happen. Besides," and Athos clapped him on the arm, "we may not be musketeers right now but it has not been so long that we have forgotten how to fight. If all of us were to fall, we wouldn't be very good soldiers!" He fixed Aramis with a determined stare. "It will be safe enough with you, my friend." There was a long pause.

"You can still change your mind about this plan," Aramis said, his dark eyes registering his concern.

Athos sighed. "I do not see any alternative. Besides, we face two musketeers whose fighting styles we know and a handful of Red Guard whom we are all aware can't fight very well. We are the superior soldiers, we're just going to prove it, that's all," and he smiled warmly. "Anyway, we have been over the plans so often in the last hours. You all know exactly what you are doing and I have placed each of you in charge of a group. We have a sort of back-up plan and, failing that, we use our initiative, as musketeers are wont to do."

"What about the missing pauldrons?" Aramis wanted to know. "Won't they ask questions?"

"Maybe, if they're that observant. In that case, the story is changed to something nearer the truth. Delacroix has set me up and the manhunt does not have the backing of King or Cardinal so they have searched 'unofficially', hence the removal of the pauldrons, which were left back at the garrison – which is also true after a fashion!"

"You're too inventive for your own good sometimes," Porthos grumbled.

"Which is why Treville made him Captain," d'Artagnan snorted. Rumbles of amusement came from some of the men who overheard.

The three men who were to accompany Athos on the first stage of the plan approached, leading their horses. Athos pulled the scarf from around his neck and handed it to Dupont.

"Use that to bind my wrists in a minute. It'll serve in place of rope." It would not aggravate the marks left on his wrists either from when he was tied up in the holding cell and then strung up from the whipping post. The injuries were much better but not entirely healed as yet.

"Ready then?" d'Artagnan asked.

"One more thing," and Athos took a step towards Porthos. "Hit me," he ordered.

"What?" Porthos thought he had misheard.

"I need you to punch me. This has to look realistic, as if I resisted arrest, so hit me a couple of times about the face; it needs to be visible. Just don't break the nose or a tooth," he instructed.

"We don't want you to spoil his good looks," Aramis chimed in.

"You're sure about this?" and Porthos flexed the fingers of his right hand as Athos lifted his chin and braced himself.

"Don't hit him so hard that you knock him out either," d'Artagnan ordered, having returned and overheard the exchange. He was somewhat worried about the turn of events.

"No problem if he does," Aramis quipped. "It could look even more realistic if he's slung unconscious across his saddle or at least tied to it."

Athos turned his head slightly to glare at his friend's suggestion and was caught completely off guard. Pain erupted in his jaw as the force of the punch lifted him clean off his feet and sat him down in the dirt, the abrupt landing sending another wave of pain through the jolted lower part of his body.

He sat there, momentarily dazed and felt his chin tentatively as he moved his lower jaw from side to side to ensure that it was fully functional still. The coppery taste in his mouth and an explorative finger confirmed that he had put his teeth through his lip again and drawn blood. He accepted Porthos' outstretched hand and let himself be hauled to his feet. He dusted off the back of his trousers and stood firm.

"Again," he ordered.

Porthos shook his head in disbelief. "You're a glutton for punishment."

"Rather you than anyone else," he replied, spitting blood on the ground.

He saw the punch coming this time and it took all his willpower not to duck or raise an arm to block it instinctively. As it landed on his upper left cheek, it still sent him staggering sideways and into d'Artagnan's steadying arms. Once upright again, he shook his head to clear the dizziness that afflicted him.

Aramis grabbed his head to check the result and tutted softly. "That will be a beautiful black eye. I'm glad you were pulling those punches," he said over his shoulder to Porthos.

Athos groaned and widened his eyes in order to focus properly. "If that's you pulling your punches, I would hate to be on the receiving end if you really meant it!"

"You said you wanted it realistic," Porthos said defensively.

They waited until Athos had mounted before his wrists were bound behind him. Their goodbyes had been silent but communicated through knowing looks; these men had been together long enough that words were not needed. As Clarence took up the reins to lead Athos' horse, it was d'Artagnan who stepped forward at the last moment to look up at his mentor and lay a hand momentarily on his thigh. Athos merely nodded and then turned his head to take in his other two friends.

"Don't be late," he said with a wry grin and let himself be led away.

As they watched him go, Porthos inhaled deeply. "There's an awful lot that can go wrong with this plan."

….

The ride to the maison forte seemed interminable but eventually their horses skirted the rubble in the gatehouse and entered the open grassed area, affording Athos his first clear view of the site within the wall and he was relieved that there were no unhelpful surprises from what he had seen the evening before.

The four came to a halt in front of the steps to the main building and waited. It was not long before both Maline and Massart appeared, accompanied by three Red Guards all brandishing weapons. They stood at the top of the steps, reliant upon the psychological advantage of looking down on the four, all of whom they recognised.

Having demanded the reason for their arrival, they listened as the prepared story was delivered and Athos sat sullen and silent in his saddle. Delighted at what they heard, they ordered that Athos be brought in and led the way through the ruined lower hall, past the entrance to the round tower and into one of the chambers beyond.

Within the confines of the room, the situation for Athos immediately deteriorated and there was nothing the three men with him could do to protect him if they wanted to maintain their cover story.

Athos stood in the middle of the room, his hands still bound as the Red Guards stood in a semi-circle to one side, his three companions to the other, Massart before him and Maline circling him dangerously.

"At last," Massart sneered, "We have you entirely on your own. I wonder how we can amuse ourselves whilst we await Delacroix. Do you have any ideas, Maline?"

"Oh I think I do,"Maline responded, pacing into Athos line of vision once more, the sight in his left eye impeded by the swelling that had resulted from Porthos' punch. "We've had to put up with him long enough. I've been waiting for this chance for ages." He stepped forward and delivered a vicious punch to Athos side, doubling him over as he was left winded. Maline grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked him up straight just as Massart drove a second punch into his stomach. He sank to his knees gagging.

"How's the back?" Maline then asked and Athos felt a momentary panic as the other man moved behind him. The malicious kick landed in the centre of his back and sent him sprawling face first onto the floor as agony burst through his torso. He could hardly draw breath as he was dragged to his feet and held there whilst a series of blows landed around his head, his upper body and his back before his legs were kicked out from under him and he collapsed in a bloodied, bruised heap. He could barely register the voices that spoke around him.

"Don't you think that was rather foolish?" Clarence demanded, trying to sound indifferent. "You don't know what Delacroix plans for him. Would he want to find him like this?"

"I don't really care. Delacroix has had his fun and we've had to help out because he's too much of a coward to take on Athos by himself. It's about time we acted for ourselves," Massart replied.

"You call this acting for yourselves?" Davide wanted to know, not quite so capable at keeping the disgust from his voice.

"What are you so bothered about? You're the ones who brought him here. Anyway, I saw him trying to escape, didn't you, Maline? Put up quite a struggle, didn't he? It took the five of us here to restrain him while you looked on. I wonder what Delacroix will think of that show of loyalty!"

"Get him out of here," Maline ordered the Red Guards. "You know where to put him."

Athos groaned as he was lifted by the arms and pulled out of the chamber and back into the corridor in a direction away from the round tower. He stumbled along between his captors, head lolling as the corridor took a right turn but at the end of it was a large, stout, oak door with a hefty lock and massive embossed metal hinges that had been in receipt of some care as there was no sound when the door opened.

Vaguely aware of his surroundings, Athos was dragged to the threshold and unceremoniously thrown into the inner room. Landing heavily with a suppressed groan, he opened his eyes and looked across the floor to focus on a pair of leather boots. His eyes then followed the line of the footwear to the legs and upwards, the familiar figure bizarrely at right angles to his prostrate position.

The figure suddenly moved to his side and hands reached for him, raising him up. An arm slid round his back to support him and draw him close.

With a lop-sided smile that broke off in a pained gasp, he managed to assert, "I knew you weren't dead," before he succumbed to the darkness that had been threatening to take him for a while, his body sinking into the arms that held him and his head falling to rest against a comforting shoulder.


	41. Chapter 41

**_Sorry that the cheer was so brief in the last chapter! Perhaps this one will be better! My goodness, it seems you have been telling me off for the suffering I have inflicted on Athos. It wasn't me, it was Delacroix! Thank you, though, for the continued feedback. Things continue to escalate here as the proverbial 'battle lines' are drawn and the first casualties fall so I am giving you fair warning!_**

CHAPTER 41

A soft moan was the first indication that Athos was stirring again. His initial awareness was of a crippling stiffness in his limbs and a range of aches and pains in different parts of his body, courtesy of the beating he had taken previously. With eyes still closed, his second realisation was that he was not stretched out on the hard floor where he had initially fallen. Instead he was semi-raised and reclining against a warm, soft, living, breathing being. The arm curling round his back and holding him still was reassuringly protective and supportive and he recalled, without looking, to whom it belonged.

"Come on, Athos. Come back to me. Open your eyes." The memorable timbre of the voice erased his momentary fear that he had been in the grip of some cruel dream and, struggling to comply, his eyes fluttered open to take in the much missed features of his commanding officer. He managed a brief half grin which then metamorphosed into a grimace.

"Have some water," Treville urged. "Just sips. It's rationed, I'm afraid, and with two of us here now, I don't know when or if they will bring us some more." He put a cup to Athos' lips and murmured encouragingly as the younger man took slow sips and groaned at the pressure of the cup against his cut and swollen lower lip. The water was tepid and stale but nectar nonetheless to a parched throat. He made to sit up of his own accord and winced as pain erupted in his head. A steadying and caring hand remained on his shoulder and he was glad to let it stay..

"Easy; don't try to do too much too soon. Stay still," Treville warned, his brow furrowed in consternation. The memory was all too fresh of the door being flung open and the battered body of his musketeer being thrown to the floor. After a prolonged pause, he spoke again softly. "You look like you've been in the wars, son."

Athos shrugged and avoided eye contact, "They gave me a warm welcome."

Treville watched him closely, "When you passed out, I untied your wrists and checked you for injuries ... I saw your back."

The response was a derisive snort. "That's not even half of it. I've been poisoned by bad mushrooms, force fed alcohol ... yes, I know you find that hard to believe," Athos interjected when he saw Treville raise his eyebrows, "but that's what provided the excuse for the flogging." The young man's face darkened at the memory. "I've been demoted; humiliated publicly, both at the palace and the garrison; imprisoned, blamed for a murder I didn't commit; beaten and resigned my commission."

There was a strained silence as, shocked, Treville tried to absorb the catalogue of negative experiences the other man had been through. He strove to lighten the mood. "A typical day for a musketeer then!"

His reward was an uncharacteristic chuckle from Athos but the younger man quickly grew serious again, his voice hesitant as he sought to express himself. "And I would do it all again to prove that I was right to stand my ground believing that you had not died."

Touched beyond measure by the younger soldier's loyalty and recognising the rare revelation of his inner sentiments, Treville was speechless for a moment and bowed his head, giving himself time to control his own warring emotions. If truth be told, he had not been so optimistic and, as the days passed, he had begun to doubt whether he would ever taste freedom again. The only thing he could not understand was why he had been left alive for so long.

When he felt he could trust his voice, he took a deep breath and assumed a practical manner. "Now that you are a prisoner too, I was wondering if you had some sort of plan."

Athos considered the remark. "I have but how long was I unconscious?"

"Not too long. Fifteen, twenty minutes at most."

Scrambling to his feet and swaying at the sudden movement, Athos put a hand to his head. He shut his eyes and clenched his teeth to the pain that seemed to be making itself known in every part of his body. He could not give in to it; there was far too much to be done. Treville rose hurriedly as well and grabbed at his arm to steady him.

The world eventually stationary again, Athos nodded gingerly. "There is a plan and it should come to fruition very soon. We should make preparation." So saying, he looked round the room as if he were searching for something.

Treville followed his gaze. "And how do you propose we do that?"

The room lacked any furnishing save for a rickety wooden chair in one corner. Athos took notice of his surroundings for the very first time. Treville had obviously spent his incarceration sleeping on the floor if the pallet, pillow and two frayed blankets against one wall were anything to go by. A pewter plate bearing a discarded bead crust, water jug and pewter cup were the only other objects visible.

"As there are no pistols or swords available, we had best improvise," Athos said, picking up the chair by its back. He glanced at where Treville was positioned. "I would stand further away if I were you," he advised.

As soon as his Captain had moved, Athos swung the chair with all his might and smashed it against the wall, gasping as the movement aggravated his many hurts. He bent down awkwardly to retrieve the chair legs and jagged wooden slats from the back.

"These are a start," he commented.

Treville grabbed the two blankets, the cup and emptied the remainder of the water out of the jug onto the floor. He held them out as he explained, "Throw the blanket over someone's head and then hit out with these. You said we had to improvise but are you going to tell me why?"

Athos briefly outlined what was going to happen and explained who of the musketeers was friend or foe.

"Depending on who comes through that door first, I would hate for you to render the wrong person unconscious," he added.

"Well I'm glad you know who's on which side. I always thought I was a good judge of character; I have serious doubts about that now," Treville frowned.

"Do not be hard on yourself; there is no easy way to identify when a man decides to take a different path. We obviously do not all share the same notion of honour."

"Obviously. Now, when does everything start happening?" asked Treville.

"About now," Athos said calmly. He handed two of the chair's broken legs to Treville and indicated that the older man should stand in readiness behind the door. With another chair leg, he began hammering on the solid door and yelling a stream of insults at the top of his voice, bringing into question the parentage and intellectual ability of his captors and his intense dislike of being locked in with Treville. He kept up a relentless tirade, pausing every so often to listen at the door to ascertain whether or not anyone was approaching.

Eventually, he stood against the wall on the other side of the door from Treville and raised the wooden leg to use as a bludgeon. "Someone's coming. No, more than one. Two people," he whispered and readied himself. He glanced at Treville whose grip tightened on his makeshift weapon and they nodded towards each other in encouragement that they would make good their escape.

"Keep the noise down, can't you? I'm coming in," shouted Dupont. Athos hoped that he interpreted correctly the warning that his colleague was walking through the door first and that whoever followed was one of the captors.

Athos breathed deeply and shifted his weight as the door was unlocked and swung open, Dupont walking straight into the room, eyes fixed on Athos as, with a slight inclination of the head, he indicated that he was being closely followed by one of the Red Guards. The man did not stand a chance as Treville struck first, catching him a heavy blow across the back of the head. He grunted and went down straight like a felled tree, landing with a loud thud. Athos leaped forward and checked that the man was unconscious even as he relieved him of his sword and pistol. Dupont grabbed a blanket and slashed at it with his main gauche before tearing it into strips and throwing one towards Athos. Between them, they bound the man's hands and feet and gagged him, the task completed swiftly. Athos tossed the sword to Treville who deftly caught it whilst hooking the pistol over his own belt. There was no ammunition on the man and the pistol was unloaded but would make a formidable club.

"Here," Dupont caught his attention and handed him the shorter blade, unsheathing his own sword as Athos nodded his thanks. "Good to see you again, Sir," he said to Treville.

"Likewise," the officer responded as the three headed for the door. Once outside, Dupont stopped long enough to relock the door on their new prisoner and pocket the key before sprinting down the corridor in the wake of Treville and Athos who was the first to skid to a halt just as another Red Guard turned the corner of the junction and came into view.

"What the …?" the guard began but got no further as, taken by surprise, he was not ready for Athos lunging at him and burying the main gauche in his chest up to its hilt. Athos withdrew it in one powerful, swift motion, catching and lowering the man to the floor so that he did not make any sound in falling. The three had passed him by before his blood had even begun to pool beneath him.

Approaching the doorway to the first chamber Athos had been taken into, they stopped and flattened themselves against the wall.

"How many?" whispered Athos, pulling the pistol from his belt and holding it by its barrel in his left hand.

"Two of ours and five Red Guard, two of whom are down now," Dupont rapidly explained.

"Five of them and of us. I like the odds," Athos said drily.

Suddenly a cacophony of pistol shots and men's wild shouts suggested that all hell had broken loose outside. Massart and another of the Red Guard ran into the corridor and straight into the men who lurked there. Athos brought the pistol down hard on the guard's skull. He did not go down immediately but staggered, his hand flailing for the hilt of his sword but, disorientated by pain and the blood streaming down his face, he failed to see the weapon fall again and was dead before he hit the floor, his skull crushed.

Treville, meanwhile, had confronted the traitorous musketeer and, roaring in anger, he balled his fist and put his full weight behind the punch to the jaw that made Massart crash back through the open doorway and land on his back. Maline was in the process of breaking the glass in a window to fire his pistol at the men who were racing across the yard from various directions to converge on the entrance. He swung round at the distraction and attempted to level his weapon at Treville.

Clarence fired first though, the ball smashing through the back of Maline's wrist, making him scream as the pistol fell from his useless fingers. He crumpled to his knees, holding the crippled limb close to his body as he wept at the agony.

Dupont stood over the prostrate Massart, his rapier point at the man's throat and piercing the pale skin so that a bead of dark red stood out in stark contrast. "Don't move or I swear I will pin you to the floor."

"Drop your weapons," Davide ordered, covering the two remaining Red Guards with his firearm. There was a simultaneous clatter as they both complied immediately, offering no resistance.

The sound of many footsteps pounding up the stairs alerted Athos that the rest of his men were about to storm the building.

"We have control," he yelled from the shelter of the doorway. "Aramis, Porthos, d'Artagan, we have control!"

"We hear you," Porthos answered and Athos moved out into full view. "That didn't take long. Seems like you 'ad all the fun in 'ere. We just made a lot of noise. How many …" He broke off mid- sentence, instantly forgetting that he was going to ask how many casualties there were when he was distracted by another figure stepping into the corridor behind Athos.

"Captain?" he breathed. He did not hesitate but strode forward and engulfed the officer in a bear hug.

"Porthos?" Treville wheezed, slapping the big man on the back. "Porthos, I can't breathe."

Porthos suddenly remembered himself and let the Captain go.

"I'm pleased to see you too," Treville acknowledged and smiled as he looked past Porthos to the next man to appear. "Aramis."

The marksman stepped forward and he, too, showed no embarrassment in briefly embracing the older man. "Are you well?" he asked when he released him, his concern immediately paramount.

"Apart from being hungry and perhaps a little weak from lack of exercise, I feel fine," Treville reassured him.

Then it was D'Artagnan's turn. The relief and joy etched on the young man's face were there for all to see but he was more reticent in his greeting, clasping the Captain's right hand in a firm handshake. "It's good to have you back."

"I will admit that it's very good to be with you all again," Treville admitted as he greeted all the men who had crowded into the corridor. "It seems much has been happening in my absence and I'm waiting to hear all the details."

The men moved to surround him, their greetings warm and heartfelt and he was moved by their show of respect and affection.

"What happened to you? That's not all down to Porthos," demanded Aramis as he saw Athos' newly bloodied features and noted that he held his arm protectively round his ribs.

"Maline and Massart wanted to show me how pleased they were to see me," Athos said.

"Let me have a look," Aramis insisted.

"There'll be time enough for that but we have much to do first. In the meantime, you could help the other casualties; there are three injured – all belonging to Delacroix and Richelieu – and two of the Cardinal's men are dead. I want the prisoners all locked up in the room where they held the Captain. It's got a stout door and windows that are too high. Even working together, they would be hard pressed to create a means of escape."

"You managed it," d'Artagnan pointed out.

"I know and we will not make the same mistakes as they did. Also, our options for keeping them incarcerated are limited. If we have to make a fight of it, I do not want to be wondering what they are doing and I certainly will not waste manpower by guarding them. We'll need every man fighting."

"So," Treville interrupted, breaking away from the other soldiers to join them, "what's next? I have a feeling you already have the makings of a plan." He looked directly at Athos.

The younger man eyed him with an unwavering gaze. "I have a few ideas but we need to do a thorough investigation of the place first. Then, perhaps, you would review my suggestions and make recommendations. We'll wait upon your orders."

There was the offer that would return them to the way it was, the way it had always been since the creation of the musketeers; the hierarchy they had known and so suddenly lost through the cruel machinations of others.

But most of them were no longer musketeers and Treville wondered about his own place in the scheme of things after all that had transpired. He thought for a moment and then crossed his arms as he studied Athos long and hard.

"No," he said eventually. "The men have relinquished their commissions and come here following you. I will listen and I will advise if necessary but in this mission, Athos, you have the command."


	42. Chapter 42

_**Dear all, profuse apologies for disappearing for so long. It was not my intention but work became crazy and the impending, massive, official inspection eventually happened (last week). Thank you to all who have been in contact and continued to follow and review. This little chapter is most definitely the 'calm before the storm.'**_

CHAPTER 42

Athos wasted no time in making a full inspection of the site and assessing its defences. Treville, d'Artagnan and Porthos walked with him whilst Aramis tended the wounded and ensured that the miscreants were catered for in their temporary prison cell.

"Davide!" Athos called.

The soldier broke off from the conversation he was having with another man and hastened to join him. "Yes, Capt …" He broke off and looked, bemused, from Treville to the man who had summoned him.

"Athos will do," he informed him to put him at his ease.

"Yes, Athos," he acknowledged. "Sorry, Sir." This he directed at Treville who nodded his acceptance of the apology.

"Take someone with you and head back to the copse. I need you to keep watch along the direction we came; men from Paris would not journey any other way. Get back to us with your report as soon as possible. You'll be relieved in three hours."

"Yes, Sir," and Davide turned on his heels and strode away, beckoning to another to join him as he headed towards the outbuilding that housed the horses that had been brought in once calm had been restored and the prisoners secured.

Athos continued his circumference of the wall, stopping periodically at the gaps to assess their potential danger as a means of entry. His men had used a couple to make their assault earlier and he scrambled up the rubble, testing it underfoot to see whether or not it would hold or give way with weight and slide. On at least two occasions, the debris from the damaged walls began to move and he lost his footing, scrabbling to regain his balance or sitting down abruptly to save himself from falling and doing himself further injury.

"Why don't I go up the next one if you're so determined to check them all?" d'Artagnan offered, nervously watching Athos descend one to rejoin them on firm ground and mindful of the beating his friend had received earlier.

Athos was about to decline the suggestion but saw the concern etched into the younger man's features. "Be my guest," he conceded, rubbing his hands together to rid them of dust and scrutinising them for additional scrapes. He rotated and studied the gaps once more.

"What are you thinking?" Treville asked.

"We don't know how much time we have; it could be hours or days and we do not know how many will come. Some of these breaches can be built up again using the rubble and might hold for a while; be a temporary deterrent at least."

"It's an idea," Treville agreed. "I've counted five serious gaps unless there are any more behind the main building."

"No, when we checked, the back part of the wall was sound. Some of the gaps would not take as much effort or time to reinforce so if we could work on three, it would help," and he indicated those that he was considering.

Treville noted where he pointed and nodded his agreement but Athos was on the move again, heading towards the gatehouse. Eyes warily watching the unsafe roof to the archway, he tried the door into the building itself. At first it wouldn't move and he was not sure whether it was locked or stuck but he put his shoulder to it and tried force.

"Let me," Porthos insisted and eased him aside to tackle the task himself. He tested it, turned sideways and threw his whole bodyweight against the solid wood. It shuddered but held so he tried it again, the wood splintering and the door erupting inwards. A sudden cascade of stone and dust and a warning shout from d'Aartagnan had him scurrying to throw himself flat against the wall, hands clasped over his head in protection as he feared a more significant collapse of the arch. It held.

As he heaved a sigh of relief and straightened up, swiping white particles from his hair, Athos glared at him in frustration. "Don't do that again. I do not want to have to dig you out of the rubble!"

"It got the door open though," Porthos grinned.

Athos merely rolled his eyes, strode past his friend and in through the door. He did not get far. Debris lay everywhere, more than ankle deep in places where upper floors had partially collapsed. There was a wooden rather than a stone staircase and as well as being obviously rotten in areas, much had come away from the wall and leaned precariously into the chamber where he stood.

"This place is a death trap," he announced, re-emerging to join the others and quickly leading them out onto the grass. "It's completely unusable; I wouldn't risk any man's life to put him on guard in there."

"It may reduce options but it helps in the decision making," Treville observed.

Athos nodded. "D'Artagnan, assemble the men in five minutes. We need to get to work." As the young man hurried away, Athos turned to Treville. "There must be a well here. Do you know where it is?" He had failed to spot it as they walked the grounds.

"There is one but from what I heard my guards discussing shortly after we arrived here, it tastes bad so they went out each morning to get water for the day. That's why it tended to be rationed; they couldn't be bothered to keep replenishing the reserves during the day. It's not exactly far; there's a river just to the east of the site. It must be what feeds the well so the point of contamination must be between there and here."

Athos was squinting into the sunlight as he watched the men beginning to gather about twenty feet away. "Another task to add to the list," he murmured.

When all had collected on the grassed area and had been joined by Aramis who had finished tending the wounded, Athos stepped forward to speak.

"We do not know how long it will be before we have company; we need to think in hours. Anything beyond that will be a luxury. The first warning we will have is when whoever is on watch rides in so there is much to do. Before we tackle anything else, everyone is to hand over any powder and shot they have to d'Artagnan and then it will be redistributed according to our defence plan. Aramis, I'll want you to be at a second floor window in the round tower. You will be our marksman there and you, Clarence, can take up a similar position in the hexagonal tower."

Treville stood slightly to one side, arms folded as he watched and listened to the young man in whom he had the utmost faith regarding the plans for the unfolding hours and defence.

Over the next few minutes, Athos issued a string of instructions and, where necessary, the order in which they were to be completed. Once they had relinquished any spare ammunition, they were to set about their individual or group tasks. Two were tasked with leading the horses in groups to the river for water before turning them out to graze on the grass; the men guarding the archway to ensure that the horses did not leave the area. At the first sign of trouble, the horses would be returned to the outbuilding and shut in.

Another three men were sent north of the maison forte to hunt but they were on restricted time as their order was not to stray too far and bring back whatever they caught for immediate cooking. The meat, if necessary, would be eaten cold but a cursory search of the main building had found little or no reserves of food. Delacroix or some of his followers were due anyway with fresh provisions for the captors and their prisoner.

Two were responsible for collecting all the water bottles and refilling them. They, too, searched the building for any more receptacles that could be used for additional water storage. The precious liquid would have to be rationed because when the attack eventually came, they did not know how long they might be besieged.

A further two were given the task of collecting as much of the smaller rubble as they could carry in consecutive trips and take it to another floor in the towers to be used as missiles when the ammunition reserve expired. A well-aimed chunk of stone, hurled with force and finding the skull could do lethal damage.

Anybody else was set rebuilding three of the wall sections and were joined by others when and as they completed their allotted jobs. It was hot, thirsty, heavy work and many of them stripped to the waist as they laboured but they were strong and settled into a steady rhythm passing the debris along a human chain, each taking turns to be at the end of the line shoring up the wall section. The two on water duty supplied the men with drinks and had time to refill the containers.

Athos passed a large stone up to Porthos who was rebuilding the wall and paused to take a deep breath and wipe the droplets from his face with his forearm before accepting the water skin held out to him by Dupont. He took a long drink from it before handing it to Porthos. Both men had joined the ranks of the shirtless, their bodies sheened with sweat. Porthos had been surprised at first that Athos had removed his and had noticed the other men in the vicinity pause and stare at the consequences of the flogging. Athos' back was healing well, given the circumstances, but it remained to be seen how many of the lash marks were superficial enough to fade with time and how many had been too deep, thus scarring him for life. With the bending and lifting of the stones, there was a pull on the wounds and, periodically, Athos would pause, hands on his hips as he gingerly straightened. The only time Porthos had suggested that he refrain from the manual labour, Athos had frowned darkly.

"I'm fine. I appreciate your concern but you and Aramis and d'Artagnan have got to stop fussing. I need to do this."

"It's only a matter of hours since you had a beating," Porthos stated.

"And I do know it," and Athos winced as if to prove a point,

Porthos realised that Athos needed to keep occupied to prevent himself from dwelling too much on the impending attack and to be distracted from the many aches and pains he must be feeling but that underlying belief in leading by example was too strong to be denied. Consequently, he launched himself into the toughest job that he had delegated to many of the men, demonstrating that the hurts he had received were not going to hold him back in the events to come.

From a distance, Treville broke off from supervising the horses, conscious that he had been assigned an 'easy' task in light of his lengthy incarceration. He had only been allowed to do that by the men on his insistence; he had baulked at being so redundant. Now he watched the young man he had designated his replacement a month earlier and smiled inwardly at the realisation he had been perfectly justified in his decision. Much had happened in the intervening weeks to all those who currently worked to increase the defences of the place they held, little of it pleasant and most of it challenging in the extreme, not least to the man who had adopted the life of the soldier in lieu of the life of a comte.

The body was bruised and battered but the resolve was stronger than ever and Athos worked as a man possessed. It was hard to say what the next few hours and days would hold for them and it was almost a certainty that not all would survive so Treville could not help but wonder how Athos would react if many of them were to fall, given that he had the command of men who had willingly given up everything they knew and held dear to follow him in what Treville hoped was not merely a romantic notion of defeating injustice.

He knew himself the terrible weight of responsibility in battle, when the decisions he had made led to men's deaths. It was an unavoidable consequence of fighting an enemy. He had listened to Athos' plans and would not have done anything differently and he had tried to convince Athos of that but he was not sure whether or not he was believed. Only time would tell.

Right now, the men toiled to serve a purpose, to ensure that they had done everything they could to face the inevitable attack with as many advantages as they could muster and for distraction.

They all knew that they were in the calm before the storm.


	43. Chapter 43

_**Thank you so much for the warm welcome back and the comments; it was lovely. So, slightly shorter than hoped, here is a little something to keep you going over the weekend whilst I 'battle with the battle!'**_

CHAPTER 43

By early evening, the anticipated attack still had not happened and, after most of the day spent in hard graft, the men were at liberty to rest. It was pointless having spent time rebuilding the defences if the men were too exhausted to fight and, as the light began to fade and the temperature remained balmy, the men lay or sat in the open and talking in small groups. Two fires had been lit and their illumination bathed the relaxing men in a warm glow.

The three hunters had returned mid-afternoon after a particularly successful outing; a small deer, two rabbits and two doves. They were responsible for lighting the fires and, having speedily and deftly skinned and plucked their prey, they had set about cooking the meat slowly on hand fashioned spits and the labouring men were teased by the mouth-watering aromas as the afternoon progressed.

At last, Athos called a halt to the work, satisfied that nothing more productive could be gained. There was not enough for twenty-eight soldiers and five prisoners to eat their fill. Athos was determined that his captives would not have the opportunity to claim that they had been mistreated or half-starved even though he knew that Treville had not been afforded that same consideration. If truth be told, there was nothing else to give them, not even a crust of stale bread. Athos had to make a decision as to whether the men devoured it all at the one sitting and rested well, or ate a smaller amount guaranteed not to assuage their hunger and risk rumbling, aching bellies overnight in order to have something with which to break their fast the following morning. The choice had been simple and the men had sat contentedly eating slices of hot roasted meat skewered on knives, the savoury juices running down their fingers and the cleaned bones discarded.

With their makeshift feast concluded, Athos gave further instructions to the men, assigning them to specific places. The marksmen in the towers had their own musket and brace of pistols but they were given the same again along with a bigger proportion of the ammunition as well as the assistance of a man to spend his time reloading the weapons as quickly as possible. The rest would have sufficient powder and shot to discharge their own weapons three or four times before resorting to their rapiers in close combat.

Treville was sitting on the stairs leading up to the main door and watching Athos circulating amongst the men. He stopped by each group, crouching down to be at eye level with the men who sat on the ground whilst he spoke with them and standing with others to impart words of encouragement, a hand reassuringly on the shoulder or clapping their arm and smiling at something they said.

Movement at Treville's side heralded the arrival of Aramis who sank onto the step next to him with a loud sigh.

"All is prepared," the marksman confirmed.

"Good; now all we have to do is wait," Treville concurred.

"Do you think they'll risk a night attack?"

"I doubt it unless they're seriously lacking in common sense; the terrain on the approach is not conducive to an assault under cover of darkness."

They sat in an amicable silence for a few minutes and then Aramis chuckled. Treville raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Athos has been very innovative; I cannot help but feel as if I am getting ready for a siege over three hundred years ago," he explained.

Treville nodded in agreement. "It has certainly taken initiative."

"Before he was brought here as a supposed prisoner, Athos told us an incredible story about an English king who besieged a castle using forty pigs and their fat."

"Intriguing, but what a waste!"

"That's what Porthos thought." They both laughed at the typical response from the big man.

"Why am I not surprised that Athos would know such a tale?" Treville asked.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence again as together they watched the subject of their conversation continue to circulate. He had reached four men that included Clarence and Davide and they evidently had questions for him for he inclined his head and listened attentively before responding. Clarence spoke again, his words going unheard by those who watched but the content obviously amused the temporary commander as he suddenly flashed a broad smile and patted Clarence on the back before moving on to the next group to establish how those men were faring in the build-up to the big attack.

"He makes it look so easy," Treville said softly.

Aramis gave him a sideways glance. "He had a good teacher." His words were equally quiet but he wanted the older man to take careful note of what he was saying.

Treville shook his head, attempting to negate the compliment. "What he has cannot be taught. It can be nurtured and developed but what he has is natural. Tell him that and he shies away like a frightened colt. Let him have his head and he leads by instinct."

Aramis was tentative in his next question. "Do you ever wonder, if things been different, with his ability as a leader he would have made a good comte?

Treville thought carefully before answering. "Yes but not a happy one."

"You really think so? Would – she," and Aramis still struggled with saying the name of the Comtesse de la Fère aloud all those weeks after Athos had banished her. "Would she have been enough for him?"

"He might have tried to convince himself that she was but I believe the intense passion of young love would not have lasted. Yes he would still love her with his entire being but the running of an estate would have stifled him. He would have sunk into a monotonous routine which he would have done well but it would have been without challenge; it would have failed to stretch him. Leading the men gives him that opportunity, that challenge, but I suppose that it's something we will never know for sure."

"Did he tell you what's been happening at the garrison and to him?" Aramis wondered just how much Treville knew.

The older man smiled. "I am sure I have had a very truncated version; you know as well as I that when it suits him, Athos can be a man of very few words."

"I'll rephrase that. Exactly what did he tell you?" Aramis fervently hoped that Athos had opened up to the superior soldier in a way that he rarely did with his friends.

"He said he'd been flogged, humiliated, something about poisoned mushrooms and being made to drink alcohol. I didn't fully understand so I'm sure he omitted a lot," Treville explained.

"You could say that ….." Taking a deep breath so that he could organise his thoughts, Aramis then continued to spend the next fifteen minutes giving Treville a detailed, chronological account of all that had transpired at the garrison since the Captain and his six musketeers had ridden out through the arch en route to Normandy. His final comment gave a chilling indication of the way Athos' mind was working. "He made the three of us promise that when the opportunity arose, we were to leave Delacroix to him."

"As is his right, don't you think?"

Aramis voiced his concern. "I fear he will show him no mercy."

"I disagree."

"You do?"

"He will be sparing Delacroix a court martial and execution and will afford him the chance of some sort of honourable death, namely in battle. Let's face it, a fight is something he has taken pains to avoid as much as possible in recent years. Delacroix has never bested Athos in any practice that I know of and certainly won't in a fight to the death unless …." His voice trailed off as an alarming thought occurred to him.

"Unless what?" Aramis' eyes widened in the face of Treville's disquiet.

"Unless he finds some way to turn things to his advantage."

"Cheat, you mean?" Aramis barely breathed the words.

"For want of a better word," Treville said grimly. "When it comes to the fight, we must try to watch Athos' back. I would not put it past Delacroix to have some sort of plan up his sleeve."


	44. Chapter 44

_**Big chapter today as I wanted to get to a key point and thought you might want to know how Delacroix was being his usual annoying self and then it dawned on me that poor Treville was still hopelessly in the dark about some things - Aramis had told him what he knew but Athos was still keeping things close to his chest. Shan't tell you any more here though; you'll have to read on. Thank you to the regulars who continue to give me feedback and interesting speculations; I really enjoy hearing from you. Jubilation at 1.00 am today when I wrote through the 100,000 word barrier - never written anything so long! Thank you for sticking with me.**_

CHAPTER 44

At the same time as Aramis and Treville were talking, Delacroix was licking his fingers and pushing away his empty plate having eaten his fill. He laughed aloud at something Garris said and indicated his empty cup, demanding a refill. Roland sat opposite him, scowling disgustedly at the man's behaviour and watching as Robert Fallon stepped forward with a jug and poured the weakened ale into the cup, his face a stoic mask at the unwelcome intrusion into the village of Clairmont by the combined Musketeer and Red Guard force.

Although it went against everything he felt was right, he too had been one to obey Athos' orders and had, in all supposed innocence, told Delacroix exactly what he wanted to know, without the man knowing that it was at Athos' behest. Delacroix had ridden into the village demanding to see where his musketeer brothers were buried and had gone through the shallow ritual of paying his respects, very few of those gathered there being aware that he was one of those responsible for putting the men in the ground in the first place.

He had asked a plethora of questions surrounding the renegades under the leadership of an ex-musketeer named Athos whom they were seeking in relation to the senseless murder of an old man and traitorous behaviour regarding the regiment. Robert gritted his teeth and feigned surprise and horror that the man he had met the previous day could be capable of such heinous activities.

"You would not be expected to understand the depths to which someone of his calibre can stoop," Delacroix said condescendingly. "But you are not to worry; we will soon have the renegades under control and their leader with receive his appropriate punishment."

"And what would that be?" Robert asked. Delacroix misconstrued the worry in his voice as a desire for further reassurance.

"He will be executed, of course. Now, when he and his band left here, in which direction were they heading?"

Fallon took a deep breath and divulged the information as Athos instructed. "They went north. Their leader was asking a lot of questions about ruined buildings, chateaux, maison fortes and the like."

Delacroix visibly froze at the news. How had Athos known where to look? Richelieu's words came back to mind and served as a chilling reminder that Delacroix should not underestimate Athos. He had found out somehow the type of place where Treville was being held. He pretended to be indifferent. "And what did you tell him?

"The village elders told him of the ruined maison forte a few miles north of here and that was where he was going to head first. He said he was looking for someone – I don't know whom – but he had this idea that the man was being held against his will in just such a place," Robert explained.

"A ridiculous notion," Delacroix said dismissively. "It was a ruse to get some information from you, make you sympathetic to his cause. At least we are here now to save you from the threat presented by him and his men should they remain in the area; I have no doubt he is looking for some place where he and his men can hide. You have done well, man; your assistance to me will not be forgotten."

Robert bowed politely and retreated, his anger boiling inside of him.

Having been to the gravesides, the visitors had announced their plans to remain the night in the village, taking over the large room where Athos and his men had been welcomed the previous day. These men, though, were totally unwelcome and they had forced themselves upon the hospitality of the villagers, demanding food and eating greedily from their meagre resources. They had spent one night camping in the open air already, not having left Paris until late the previous afternoon once the audience with the King and Delacroix' subsequent exchange with Richelieu had taken place. The Captain of the Musketeers had sought to mobilise his men as soon as possible but, never having had such sole responsibility before, his preparations were haphazard and it took the combined assistance of Roland and Bertram to advise him and ready the group for the road. He had not exactly pushed the men since, somewhat reluctant as he was about the mission, and the troop had not made the speedy progress of Athos and his men.

Delacroix was still smarting from the chastising he had received at the hands of his King and the Cardinal and was horrified that Richelieu had ordered his departure from Paris in pursuit of Athos and his men. As much as he wanted Athos dead, he did not relish the inevitable confrontation and was fully cognisant of the fact that it would not be an easy encounter. Those he had left at the maison forte had neither the man- nor firepower to withstand an attack by a group the size of the one that had ridden out through the Paris gates so it was a foregone conclusion that the ex-Musketeers had found and released Treville. He could imagine how that would have encouraged them and was sickened at the thought of Athos' arrogance of having been proved right. He should have killed Treville when he had the chance in the initial attack and be done with it. The Captain and the wretched _Inseparables _all believed him to be a coward but he had proved otherwise when they had intercepted the musketeer troop on the Paris road. He would NOT be ridiculed again.

As he thought about the forthcoming clash with the renegades, he began formulating his own strategy. Now there was an amusing idea; Richelieu believed him incapable of original thought. However, it was good that he had Roland and his soldiers along. They could be sent in first to risk the pistol and musket fire; he would be in a supporting and supervisory role. With any luck, Athos – being the hero that he thought he was – would fall in the first assault as he would undoubtedly lead from the front. If, however, he survived, Delacroix would challenge him but Bertram, Faron and Silvey would have their part to play and he knew exactly what he wanted them to do should the need arise.

...

Aramis thought carefully about Treville's warning regarding Delacroix and realised there was validity in what the older man feared. Eventually he spoke. "Well Delacroix certainly hasn't played by any honourable rules that we know of. That's what we've been saying all along."

Athos turned from chatting with the last group of soldiers and glanced in their direction. It was as if he instinctively knew that he was the object of their scrutiny; he gave a brief nod and grinned. It never ceased to amaze Treville the difference it wrought in him when he deigned to smile. Ever watchful and sombre, he could cut an intimidating figure and there were those even amongst the ranks of the musketeers who deemed him cold and aloof but, unknown to them, that wariness and reserve were the direct result of a turbulent past and he struggled with an inherent shyness. That smile, often just an amused twitch at the corners of his mouth, occasionally erupted into an unguardedly broad grin and his handsome features were further transformed, his face lighting up and green eyes crinkling with unabashed humour.

"He's smiled more today than I've known him do in a long time, save for the morning of the Austrian dignitary's visit," Aramis said, as if he knew what the older man was thinking. Treville had been ignorant of the whole visit but it had formed an important part of Aramis' account to him, coming as it did between the incident with the mushrooms and Athos losing his command.

"It amazes me how two of the King's musketeers can be so different," Treville said, comparing Delacroix and Athos in his mind.

"They are alike in one respect," Aramis pointed out.

"And what's that?"

"Their obsessive nature. Delacroix is obsessed by his hatred and jealousy of Athos and Athos …"

"Athos?"

"He was obsessive from the start in his belief that you were still alive." Aramis looked sideways towards Treville and spoke again, his words tinged with a note of sadness. "I'm sorry."

"Why should you apologise?" the older man asked.

"Because Porthos, d'Artagnan and I didn't have that same level of belief. We feared the worst although we didn't want to."

Treville immediately understood the depth of what was troubling the marksman and sought to appease him. "You have no reason to feel bad. As much as it would have pained me, had one of you been missing for a similar length of time, I would have called it before now. You would have been listed as missing, presumed dead."

"It wouldn't be an easy decision to make, would it?"

"Far from it. Fortunately, it isn't that frequent an occurrence but when it does happen, it doesn't get any easier." He paused as Aramis yawned. "Perhaps we ought to think about settling for the night; we might have a very taxing day ahead of us."

"That's something of an understatement! Are you going to rest in the building?"

Treville looked first behind him at the darkened doorway of the maison forte and then out at the open space around him. "Now that's an easy decision. The night is warm and I have spent far too long locked up in the building; I think I'd far prefer to sleep out here under the stars."

Aramis scrambled to his feet. "I'll see about finding us some blankets then," and he disappeared into the building.

Before darkness fell completely, the last change of watch at the copse took place and when those relieved rode in through the gatehouse arch and stabled their mounts in the outbuilding, it served as an unspoken suggestion that all the men begin to settle for the night. The opportunity to sleep in the surviving chambers to the left of the round tower was ignored, the men preferring as one to stretch out under the full moon, some with a blanket, others making use of their musketeer cloaks but remaining in their small groups and close to the fires that were kept burning low. As an additional, precautionary measure, Athos posted a further two-hourly watch of four men; one near the gatehouse entrance, another at each of the two remaining wall breaches and the last sitting in the midst of the sleeping, vulnerable men, feeding the fires with wood that had been gathered earlier and watching over his colleagues.

Treville lay on his back, wide awake and staring up at the sky, listening to the familiar sounds of the night. A creature gave a cry in the countryside beyond the walls whilst all around him, men shuffled, subconsciously seeking a more comfortable spot on the hard ground. An occasional cough was heard but the main accompaniment was the varied and, to him, reassuring range of male snoring; from the infrequent snuffles and snorts through to the full-throated, cacophonous rumble and he could not help but smile to himself as he recognised Porthos' tones amongst them. A nocturnal bird was fleetingly silhouetted against the moon and he guessed it was an owl, hunting for small prey.

His mind was restlessly going over all that he had gleaned from Athos and Aramis and he was fast reaching the conclusion that there remained gaps in his understanding and that he had many unanswered questions. So much had happened in the month since Delacroix led a group that had killed six of his men and seized him. He would never forget that moment at the height of the attack when the mask slipped and the assailant facing him was one of his own; nor would he ever be able to forget the enormity of the sense of betrayal, that a man he had trusted could stoop so low.

That same man had taken advantage of his absence and dared to wreak havoc in his regiment – he could not think of the musketeers in any other way than 'his'. Delacroix had systematically alienated and mistreated the men, not least the young man he had initially left in charge as his replacement and he found it incomprehensible that such behaviour stemmed from a deep-rooted jealousy but, he had to face it, that was what had transpired and he was uneasy about the outcome. He had no misgivings about Athos' ability to defeat Delacroix, but the latter had played false throughout his career in the musketeer regiment and Treville felt he had no choice but to apportion a large amount of the blame to his own shoulders; he was the commanding officer and it had been his responsibility to identify and curb Delacroix' history of bullying tactics towards Athos. Had he done so, things might have taken a considerably different turn, although he had to admit that he had always been somewhat surprised when Athos was so taciturn about his treatment at the hands of Delacroix.

Sudden movement in his peripheral vision to the right caught his attention and he saw a figure rise and walk off in the moonlight towards one of the two remaining wall breaches; he knew immediately who it was. Careful of the sleeping men around him, he got to his feet and picked his way amongst the still forms and followed.

He found Athos sitting on a large section of stonework that had collapsed from the main wall and he sat beside him. Together they looked out across the grassed site with the low fires and the dark forms of recumbent men. The gatehouse was to their left and main building to their right whilst the outbuilding housing the horses lay directly ahead and, in the still of the night, the snort of a restless animal reached their ears.

"Couldn't you sleep?" Treville asked softly, not wanting his voice to carry and disturb the resting soldiers. He refrained from looking towards the younger man as he spoke.

"No; I thought I'd wait and make sure the change of watch happened on time," came the prompt answer. It was a poor excuse and they both knew it; there was nearly another hour before the replacements were expected to stir and take up their posts. "What about you?"

"I'm told it's something to do with advancing years; you don't tend to need as much sleep as when you are younger," Treville replied. Another lie and they both knew that as well. Treville waited, wondering how long it would be before Athos opened up – if at all. He had never known a man so reticent regarding his thoughts and feelings or who had succeeded in keeping the truth about his past suppressed to such an extent but, in the years that the young man had been in the regiment, Treville had at least learned how to deal with him; when to seek his counsel, when and how to discipline; and when to listen and advise. All were necessary at some point but it was the listen and advise category that he understood was needed now.

It was several minutes before Athos felt comfortable enough to break the silence. "Is it always like this?"

Treville pretended not to grasp Athos' meaning although he understood only too well. How many times had he been in a similar situation? "Is what like what?"

"The thoughts, the self doubts and ..." he paused before confessing, "the fears the night before a battle."

"You've experienced enough eves of battle in your time."

"Not like this. Before I was always following orders – yours. Now I'm expecting men to follow mine."

"You've also given plenty of orders in the field," Treville reminded him.

"That's different. It's usually smaller groups or just Porthos, Aramis, d'Artagnan and me. If I'm going to make a reckless decision, we can discuss it if need be but we're generally reckless together anyway. It's what I like to call a considered recklessness." Trevile could almost hear the winsome smile in his voice. "Supposing I've made the wrong decisions here? There are so many lives at stake."

"You've talked through your decisions with me. I would have done just as you have done. I would not have let you make an error."

"I know but ..."

"But what? Tell me what you're thinking, Athos."

"I've already made a mistake." He saw that Treville was about to contradict him and rushed on. "We leave the cover of that building and we're completely exposed; there's nothing except for an open space. We should have used more of that wall debris to construct at least two barriers in front of the steps."

"I wouldn't call that a mistake," Treville persisted. "It can be remedied at first light. With everyone helping, it should not take us too long. "

"I'm having to assume so many things so that there's a plan, a back-up plan and another plan to replace that one if all else fails. Perhaps I've missed something crucial." Athos' voice was almost a groan.

"I doubt that very much," Treville tried to reassure him, "but why don't you sound me out again? Fill in the gaps for me about what has brought you to this point, other than searching for me."

"Richelieu is behind it all."

"I feared as much from the outset when Louis sent me on the wild goose chase to Normandy."

"The Duke was not a threat?" Athos began to realise that there was much that he and Treville had not discussed. So much had happened as the day progressed that there had been little opportunity to bring each other up to date and he found himself relaxing into a familiar situation of reporting and exchanging information.

"Not at all; he was mightily offended that it was even suggested."

"Need I ask who did the suggesting?" The cynical tone in Athos' voice was unmistakable.

"Richelieu claimed that it was from one of his informants. Well, the informant conveniently got it completely wrong."

"Or there was no informant at all and it was an utter fabrication on the part of the Cardinal to serve his own ends," Athos cut in.

"Exactly, and then there was the strange diversion to the monastery. Once we had got there safely, it made it obvious that any possible attack would be imminent on the road between there and Paris." Treville paused and when he resumed, there was a strange catch in his voice. "They fought well, you know. You had your reservations about their accompanying me and rightly so but they acquitted themselves at the end as true musketeers. None of them deserved to die like that."

"No, but we have visited where they are buried and paid our respects on the way here."

"You know where they are?" Treville was incredulous but his relief was tangible as Athos went on to explain about their initial makeshift grave, the discovery of their remains and subsequent reburial by the inhabitants of Clairmont.

"It is reassuring to know that there are some good people on this earth," Treville rued.

"But I worry for them," Athos continued. "Delacroix knows what they have done. One of the villagers, a Robert Fallon, came to the garrison to inform us. I was the one to pass on that information; I just hope that he will not take it out on the villagers as he heads this way. He's a bigger fool than I thought if he does punish them for their intervention. I told Fallon that if the opportunity arose, he was to tell Delacroix where we were heading. There's my first assumption, that he'll stop at Clairmont and ask the right questions."

"How did you find this place so quickly?" Trevile wondered.

"I overheard Delacroix give a vague description of here in a conversation with Bertram and so I asked Fallon and the village elders about it; they knew of it and its whereabouts. If Delacroix has spoken with Fallon, he will surmise that we are here and attack."

"Where were you to overhear such incriminating evidence?" Treville was curious.

In an instant, it dawned on Athos that there were several things about which Treville still knew nothing.

"I was concealed in the secret room off your bedchamber," he said.

"You found out where the keys fitted?" Treville was relieved.

"Yes and I found this," he reached inside his doublet and retrieved the book which he had taken back from Aramis during the afternoon. "You ought to have this now," and he handed it over.

Treville accepted it but did not open it. "Have you read it?"

"I looked at some of it to ascertain what it was. It seems to me that there is enough in there that you could have used to bring down Richelieu several times over."

"Perhaps I could have done before now but I suppose my hesitancy stemmed from a nervousness that he would be able to explain away his actions somehow."

"I cannot actually imagine you being nervous about a confrontation with Richelieu," Athos said, his eyes widening a little at the prospect.

Treville had the temerity to appear embarrassed, "Let me put it this way; there are some battles I like to pick and I want to be as sure as possible about the outcome before I make a move, especially where the Cardinal is concerned." Athos gave a low chuckle. "So you must have seen Pière and had his help. Tell me, how is the old man?"

Athos froze, struggling to find the words at first. "I'm sorry. Pière is dead. He is the person I am supposed to have murdered but it was Delacroix." He went on to explain, as gently as he could, what had transpired in Treville's chamber. From the older man's body language and sudden silence, Athos could tell that he was trying to assimilate the news and wrestle with a burgeoning grief. Pière had been a faithful servant for many years.

When a suitable period of time had elapsed, Athos continued repeating the conversation he had overheard. "It appears the Cardinal wanted you kept alive until he had found the evidence you had amassed against him. Delacroix thought that when that was destroyed, Richelieu would affect some rescue plan and be the hero of the hour, thus diverting suspicion of his involvement. However, Delacroix was growing impatient and just wanted you and me out of the way. If he could manage to dispose of Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan as well, so much the better."

Treville still did not speak and, tentatively, Athos reached out and laid a hand on the man's shoulder. "I am truly sorry about Pière," he repeated.

Treville merely nodded. "Let's just make sure Delacroix gets what he deserves." His voice was low and the suppressed anger unmistakable.

"That is what I intend," Athos vowed. He suddenly stood up. "Maybe it's time we tried to get some sleep now."

"Aren't you worried that the next watch won't wake up and take up their duty?" Treville reminded him of the excuse he had given at the outset of their nocturnal discussion.

"No, I'll trust them to do it," Athos said. "Besides, we have to be up at dawn to build two small barricades."

The two of them headed back to the resting figures and settled down onto their blankets, sleep quickly claiming them at last.

The men were stirring at first light and immediately set about occupying themselves to distract them from the lack of food. Those who had taken on the responsibility for water the previous day set out to replenish their supply and Athos announced that it would be rationed from the start. The horses were let out to graze for an hour but then Athos wanted them secure again, reluctant to have a last minute rush to enclose them. He gave further orders to construct two barriers of stone in front of the steps to rectify the omission he had been worrying about overnight and, as the work commenced, he took time to check briefly on the prisoners, ascertaining from Aramis how the wounded were progressing. He soon returned and joined one of the human chains that shifted the wall rubble to a new position, repeating the battle strategies he had put before the men the day before.

He had just decided that the length and height of the two barricades were sufficient to provide cover for two men behind each when the sound of horses' hooves at full gallop thundered over the causeway and through the archway, the two animals skidding to a halt as their breathless riders slid from the saddles and ran towards Athos, calling his name. He moved quickly across the ground to meet them, Treville closely at his heels.

"Report," he ordered succinctly.

"Men riding hard and fast about two miles away when we first saw them across open land," one of the men answered.

"How many?" Athos demanded.

"We didn't stay long enough for an exact count as they were moving so quickly but there are at least thirty," the other man stated.

Athos looked at Treville and took a deep breath before turning on his heel. "It's time!" he yelled, as the men stopped what they were doing to pay attention. "They're coming. To your positions!"

There were a few moments of organised chaos as the men retrieved weapons from where they had laid them on the ground whilst they worked and set off running to their designated places whilst shouting brief, well meaning messages to each other.

Athos stopped by Aramis as he picked up the two muskets; his partner, who was going to reload for him, was already sprinting up the steps towards the round tower with the other weapons.

"Make each shot count," Athos said simply.

Aramis nodded and reached out to clasp Athos' hand in his and shook it firmly. "Just make sure you look after yourself."

"I will," Athos replied and watched as Porthos and d'Artagnan strode across the grass towards him.

Porthos threw an arm round his shoulders. "You take care now, you hear? Don't do anything stupid," and he was gone, racing up the stairs to take up position inside the doorway to the right.

Athos was temporarily distracted by the sound of breaking glass as men punched out the windows to the left of the round tower. When he looked back, d'Artagnan hovered at his side and awkwardly embraced him, holding him tight as he whispered in Athos' ear.

"I know you want Delacroix so you get him but stay focused. Remember what you always tell me; don't let your heart rule your head. The Lord knows you've got every reason to have your heart dictating what you do, given how he's treated you, but be careful." He pulled away, his eyes glistening.

Athos held him by the shoulders. "I will but I need you to take care also."

D'Artagnan nodded his promise and left to assume his position at one of the ground floor windows to the left of the steps.

Athos took a deep breath and exhaled loudly as Treville took a step closer and extended his hand which the younger man took. "You've done all the thinking and you've primed the men well. You could have done no more in terms of preparation. Believe in yourself. Just one more thing," and he suddenly pulled Athos towards him, surprising him as he held him close. "Make sure you stay alive, son."


	45. Chapter 45

_**Thank you so much for exceeding the 300 comments last night; I really appreciate the feedback and for you taking the time to do so. Slightly shorter today as the next chapter - uploaded this coming Friday - is (I think) THE chapter for which everyone is waiting! I'm not saying any more!**_

CHAPTER 45

The men watched from their hiding places as a lone figure rode very slowly through the gatehouse arch into the grassed area. Tall and slender, the man held himself well in the saddle and his eyes roamed the façade of the building looking for and yet expecting to see no signs of life; he knew that the renegades would have secreted themselves away. They were, after all, seasoned and well-trained soldiers.

"I am Gilles Roland," he shouted, standing in the stirrups and looking around more deliberately, "Captain of the Red Guard. I am here on behalf of His Eminence, Cardinal Richelieu and His Most Gracious Majesty Louis XIII, King of France. I seek the former musketeer known as Athos."

There was a drawn out silence until, suddenly, there was movement and Athos appeared at the top of the steps.

"I am Athos, formerly of the King's Musketeers. What is your message?" He stood stock still, legs apart, weight evenly distributed and hands clear of the weapons on his belts. From his vantage point, he was a commanding figure. Behind him and to each side, muskets were trained on the Red Guard who would be shot from his saddle if he made the slightest movement that might be construed as threatening. Roland sensed their presence rather than saw them; he, too, was an experienced soldier and he sat back in the saddle.

"His Majesty has heard a number of disquieting reports about you, primarily that you are troublesome in your nature and are responsible for fomenting a division in the musketeer ranks, causing a number to follow you even now. On the other hand, there are those who speak of you as the victim. The King would have you return to Paris to explain yourself."

"I expect he would," Athos acknowledged, "but who is in your party beyond these walls?"

"My men and Captain Delacroix with some of the Musketeers."

"And tell me," Athos continued, "why does Captain Delacroix not come himself considering that this is musketeer business?"

"The Captain believes that because of the animosity you bear him, you would not give him the chance to explain so he sent me as the intermediary. He asks that you surrender your weapons to me and accompany us back to Paris to answer to the King."

"If I surrender, what happens to the men who are with me?"

"They will surrender as well."

"I am sure that the King has some questions for me but I doubt that I would ever have the chance to hear them, let alone answer them. I suspect that I would never see Paris."

"You have a suspicious nature, Monsieur. Do you not trust us?"

Athos rolled his eyes in disbelief. "You ride back to Captain Delacroix and tell him that I heard his plans for me and others that are with me; I was in Captain Treville's house at the time and overheard every word. I know he killed the old servant and how. I know all about Richelieu's involvement in events and I have that for which Delacroix has been searching. Go back and tell him all of that and that I will not surrender."

"I had heard you were a difficult, intransigent man and now I see it for myself. There will be no second chance."

Athos said nothing but fixed Roland with an uncompromising stare which the Red Guard reciprocated and maintained, even as he pulled on the reins and turned his mount towards the exit again. His horse had barely cleared the gatehouse when an enormous chunk of stone crashed to the ground, splintering and sending small pieces flying in a multitude of directions.

As soon as he had gone, Athos took the steps two at a time and went in through the doorway.

"They'll be coming," he announced.

"They were always coming," Porthos growled. "They were never going to let us go, to let you go."

"Athos!" The shout came from Aramis up the tower and Athos moved as fast as he dared on the spiral staircase to join him. Breathing hard as he reached the top floor, he looked out the window to where Aramis pointed. They were higher than the surrounding wall and could see over to the activity beyond.

"Delacroix has split the force into three. The larger group are still on horseback and look like they are going to storm the main entrance. I saw others dismount and they're coming round the sides, probably to come through the remaining breaches."

Athos stared in disbelief. "They'll have no cover. Do they not think we'll cut them down?" He moved to descend the stairs again but Aramis gripped his arm and held him back.

"Look! What's happening?" and he pointed again, this time towards two men who faced each other, animated gestures indicating that they were not involved in a pleasant conversation.

Squinting, Athos tried to make out the identities of the men concerned. He thought the one on the left was Delacroix from his build and colouring but could not be sure although he was convinced that they were both musketeers from the colour of their uniforms. Even as he watched, Delacroix pulled a pistol form his built and stood, arm outstretched and the barrel pointing straight at the other musketeer at close range.

"No!" breathed Aramis as he leaned forward as if, by bridging the gap, he could prevent what he feared was about to happen.

Even as they watched , the gun was fired, the sound of the blast reaching their ears as they saw the tell-tale eruption of smoke. The other musketeer bucked backwards, an arm flailing at the air as he stumbled and then crumpled. Aramis and Athos stared in utter disbelief, momentarily immobilised but the gunshot had unnerved the hidden renegades who thought the attack had begun. The result was a cacophony of musket and pistol fire.

Athos ran, trying to descend the stone stairs so quickly that he was almost on his bottom as he scrambled down them, yelling at the top of his voice, "Hold you fire! Hold your fire!"

By the time he had reached the ground floor corridor, he could hear Porthos and d'Artagnan echoing his cry along the line and the guns fell silent. "More ammunition wasted," he muttered angrily under his breath.

"What happened there?" demanded Treville as Porthos and d'Artagnan rejoined them. The sounds of men reloading drifted along the corridor.

"Delacroix shot dead a musketeer at close range," Athos explained, fury etched into his features.

"What? Why? D'Artagnan exclaimed, not sure that he had heard correctly.

"I can't know for sure but my immediate thought was that the man was refusing to attack us, his musketeers brothers, within these walls and Delacroix didn't like it."

"Who was it?" Poorthos asked, his face grim.

Athos shrugged. "I don't know; he was too far away for me to identify him, but we haven't got time for this now. Riders are about to storm the main gate and men on foot are getting ready to come through the breaches in the walls. It's a good job that we built up those stone barriers this morning. I'm going out to one and I need a volunteer to take the other; we can fire at them coming through the gaps." Athos made to walk past his friends but Treville caught him by the arm.

"No," the older man insisted.

"What?" Athos looked from him down to the hand on his arm.

"I told you I would speak out if I thought you were making an error – you are now," Treville insisted.

"How?" there was an edge to Athos' voice but Treville did not release him.

"You are the commander and as such you delegate. You do not lead in this instance; the rest of your men need you here to weigh up what is happening, give orders and change strategy if needed."

Athos tensed, knowing that Treville was right but it frustrated him nonetheless.

"Porthos and I will go," d'Artagnan announced, looking at the big man for his confirmation. Porthos nodded and in that instant, Athos felt as if someone had dealt him a low body blow. He wanted to shout 'no', to keep them back as well within the limited safety of the building but he knew he could show no favouritism and he had to allow the men he trusted most to take the potentially biggest risk. The slightest dip of the head was their cue to depart and they were gone.

"We have to cover them," he said, his voice tight and both he and Treville took up positions just inside the open doorway.

At that moment, all hell broke loose in the open area outside. Figures emerged scrambling over the rubble in the damaged walls, firing indiscriminately, not having any chance to hit the men concealed within the main ruin but drawing their fire so that they would have to spend valuable time reloading. Simultaneously a huge roar of voices intending to intimidate and the thundering of hooves announced the arrival of those storming the main entrance. They rode into the yard at speed, breaking off into various directions, the first of the riders shooting without aim but determined to thwart the attempts of any of Athos' men to come out into the open too soon. They circled, intent on being moving targets.

Before the last ones erupted into the clearing though, there came an ear-splitting crack, the noise and vibrations of so many animals galloping at speed serving as the final assault on the seriously unstable gatehouse. In an instant, and without further warning, the central section collapsed in a deafening rumble and the combined, terrified screams of horses and men who had not cleared the archway. One animal somersaulted crazily across the grass, throwing its rider who rolled uncontrollably at speed across the ground, coming to an abrupt halt against one of the hastily erected stone barriers in a macabre copy of a torn rag doll.

Dust billowed up in clouds, clogging throats and blinding eyes and an eerie silence ensued – but not for long.


	46. Chapter 46

_**Sorry I'm so late - had a hellish drive in bad weather and heavy traffic that took 5.5 hours (twice what it should do!) Well here it is; the chapter with the confrontation between Athos and Delacroix. I wonder if it ought to carry a warning? Well I'm warning now! Apologies for any typos in haste to upload and for the very strange typos in the last chapter. Am genuinely worried that this chapter lives up to your expectations after all this time ... (waiting to hear your thoughts with bated breath!)**_

CHAPTER 46

Most had survived the collapse of the archway and they circumnavigated the open area, expending the last of their rounds at the building. A couple fell as shots from the renegades found their mark. Others slid from their saddles, hitting the ground at a run as they unsheathed swords and made for the building, the first line of resistance being Porthos and d'Artagnan. As soon as they had fired both pistols, successfully felling another man each, they emerged from behind the stone barricades to engage the enemy in hand to hand combat.

The other renegades poured from the building and down the steps, ammunition gone and all reliant upon their rapiers and daggers. All that could be heard was the sound of steel on steel, the cries and shouts of men as they fought each other as if possessed. The occasional musket roared above all else as the two marksmen in the towers did their best to assist their comrades in the melée but a clear shot was often limited.

Gradually, the numbers thinned as men lost the battle for their lives and others collapsed wounded and neglected as their opponent reeled about to face another onslaught.

"Athos!" a voice suddenly bellowed, rising above the remaining clamour. The intonation was not a cry of warning, a question nor a plea for help; instead it bore the unmistakable note of the imperative.

Athos heard it immediately and recognised the timbre of Delacroix. His back straightened and he revolved slowly to face the man who had become his nemesis. Delacroix stood some twenty feet away, poised and ready to fight, his face an ugly grimace of intent and his eyes fixed with hatred on the man he would destroy.

It was Aramis from his vantage point in the round tower who saw the encroaching danger.

Delacroix had distracted Athos and the pair were preparing for their final confrontation so the erstwhile captain of the King's Musketeers was oblivious to the approach of three friends of the current leader. In a pre-planned arrangement, Bertram, Garris and Silvey, rapiers poised, moved in towards Athos, one from each side and one from behind.

In the same moment that he screamed the warning he knew Athos would never hear, Aramis made a snap decision as to which of the men would become his target as he only had the time for one shot. He aimed, beads of sweat standing out on his forehead - for he could not recall a time when a shot was so important to him - and pulled the trigger.

Porthos was the closest and had just felled a Red Guard with the force of his elbow to the man's throat, causing him to drop to his hands and knees, scrabbling at the ground as he gagged and gasped for air. Swivelling on his heels to take stock of what was happening around him, Porthos was just in time to see Silvey jerk uncontrollably and fall backwards, a hole in his chest that was rapidly turning red. The big man looked briefly up to the glassless window where he knew Aramis had positioned himself, ready to signal that it was a shot well made when he saw the marksman gesticulating wildly to his right. He knew instinctively that danger loomed and his head snapped round in time to see Delacroix, Bertram and Garris closing in on Athos.

As Porthos roared his own angry warning, he ran at Garris who was the nearest to him, barrelling into the man and knocking him down.

Skilled swordsman and soldier that he was, Athos had not been distracted for long, knowing that it meant certain death to be totally unaware of what was happening around him on a battlefield. He pivoted swiftly, taking note of where Delacroix and Bertram were as the two launched a simultaneous attack. Athos easily parried Delacroix's thrust whilst his own rapier clashed with that of Bertram but as he stepped back to increase the distance between himself and the Captain, Bertram pursued him and lunged. Focusing his attention on the new threat, Athos engaged the other musketeer, sparks flying from the blades as they fought furiously. Delacroix circled and Athos gave ground to the two as he endeavoured to keep both within his sight lines.

Garris, having been winded, saw Porthos moving to render assistance and threw himself at the big man's legs, knocking him off balance. Porthos rolled and came up, agilely finding his feet again. Before Garris could react again and recover the weapons he had dropped when he was initially felled, Porthos leaned in, grabbed him by the neckline of his leather doublet and punched him as hard as he could. It only took the one; Garris' head snapped back and he fell limp in Porthos' grasp. The big musketeer dropped him unceremoniously and focused on the violent and desperate fight happening mere feet away.

The struggle was unbalanced, Athos keeping Delacroix at bay with greater ease than Bertram, who was definitely the more skilled of the two, although had he been the sole adversary, Athos still would have taken him easily. Athos had just blocked another thrust from Delacroix, his main gauche locking with the other man's rapier, when he saw Bertram lunge again in his peripheral vision and swung his rapier with as much force as he could to parry the blow. Off balance and with his right arm raised, he had left himself open and felt a searing pain in his right side. Bertram had made a lucky strike, following the rapier thrust with a slicing motion of his own main gauche at the exposed side. The force of the action was dulled by the tough leather doublet and the weapons belts but was not deflected enough as it still cut through doublet and shirt and into the flesh beneath.

An angry scream sounded but Athos did not think it had come from him. Bertram's eyes widened in surprise as he looked at Athos and seemed about to speak but chose instead to look downwards at the rapier point that emerged from below his breastbone. Fascinated, Athos watched the metal point suddenly disappear as the blade was withdrawn and Bertram pitched face forward to the ground. Behind him, chest heaving with exertion, was d'Artagnan, the relief at reaching his friend in time so obvious on his features.

Rather than being supported by three of his own men, Delacroix suddenly found himself confronted by three of the Inseparables and it was too much for him. Making the strategic decision to retreat and fight another day, he started to move backwards before turning to walk away, only to find his exit barred by yet another angry figure.

"Going somewhere?" Treville demanded.

"No. I ..." Delacroix had nothing to say that could explain himself. Frantically looking around the open space, he realised with a sinking heart that he had lost, disastrously. The ground was strewn with the bodies of the dead and injured, most of them those that had ridden with him from Paris. Even Roland sat dejectedly on the grass, blood pouring from a shoulder wound as one of Athos' men stood over him, guarding him with a pistol. Others had surrendered and were being rounded up by the surviving renegades to sit in a tight circle under further guard.

Aramis strode swiftly across the open ground towards them, unsheathing his rapier as he moved. Delacroix was encircled and he had nowhere to go.

"You're wounded," d'Artagnan said to Athos, who tentatively touched his side and withdrew a bloodied hand.

"It's just a scratch," he asserted and perhaps he was right, although he would not allow any of them to help him at that moment and he probably believed what he had said, adrenalin keeping him on his feet.

"This isn't fair," Delacroix whined in panic. "I can't fight all of you."

"You expect fairness?" d'Artagnan spat out. "What do you know of fairness?"

"We aren't you," Porthos growled. "We know what fairness is."

"We aren't all going to fight you," Aramis explained grimly, "unless you defeat Athos. Then we might get involved."

Horrified, Delacroix knew that he was going to die within the next few minutes and he was scared, more so than he had ever been in his life.

"You're men of honour. You wouldn't do this. It's murder," he bleated, rounding on Treville in desperation and hoping that the Captain would instil order into the proceedings.

"And it wasn't murder when you killed six of my men, your brothers, with no motive other than your own misguided self-interest?" Treville demanded. "Wasn't it the intention of murder in your heart that brought you here? The murder of me, of Athos and all who rode with him? What about the murder of my servant? What had the old man ever done to you?"

"That was an accident," Delacroix pleaded, close to tears in terror. "I never meant for that to happen. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Correction," Treville said. "_You_ were in the wrong place at the wrong time; you had no business being in my house. Look around you, Delacroix. Look at how many of your men lie dead now."

"I surrender," Delacroix said hastily, laying his rapier down on the grass. "Arrest me, strip me of my commission, take me back to Paris, put me on trial. I'll admit everything. I'll give you the Cardinal, tell you everything."

"We do not need your words," Athos spoke at last. His voice was low, deliberate and utterly devoid of emotion. "We have more than enough evidence to destroy the Cardinal and you by association. Pick up your sword."

"No, I've surrendered," he tried again, aware that even the groans of the injured had fallen silent as the eyes of all, prisoners included, were fixed on the drama unfolding in the middle of the open space.

"No you 'aven't," Porthos said, a smile on his lips that didn't reach his eyes as he moved forward and picked up the weapon. "You just got a bit clumsy, that's all, an' dropped it. Here you are," and he held it out to the man who cowered before him. All feigned warmth disappeared and his eyes hardened as he ordered, "Take it."

Whimpering, Delacroix took it, tears streaking his dirty face as his eyes darted from one to the other of the men and finally alighted on Athos, who stared at him in disdain. "I'm sorry."

"You believe an apology will make things right? Will undo all the harm that you have done to others and to me?" Athos asked, every fibre of his being cold and distant. "How did you ever deserve to wear the pauldron of the King's Musketeers?"

"I heard tell as how his father bought it for him," Porthos sneered. "Shame you haven't spent the years in between earning that right."

"Captain ..." Delacroix appealed again to the man who had been his commanding officer and whom he had tried to destroy.

"You have a choice, Delacroix. Surrender," and Treville raised a hand to silence the simultaneous objections that burst forth from Porthos and d'Artagnan, "and face a court martial and execution that would bring shame upon your family, or stand and fight like a man for once. I will report to your family that you fell in battle and will endeavour to minimise the scandal that surrounds your actions and your name - but only to spare them."

Delacroix thought about his predicament and sniffed back his tears as he surveyed the group of men around him.

"You have taken advantage of your position, abusing your authority to mistreat Athos in an extreme, unforgivable manner," Aramis said softly. "Are you man enough to face him now on near equal terms?"

"I've never beaten him in sword practice," Delacroix reminded them.

Aramis laughed and looked at the other men around him, "None of us have!" He grew serious again. "But you had him wounded by your friend. You had planned for three of them to cause him grievous injury to afford you a better opportunity of beating him at last. So deep seated is your resentment and jealousy. You are so consumed by your own hatred for him that you would seek any means to be the superior one. Now take your chance, Delacroix. Athos might not be as seriously wounded as you would have liked but he is at a disadvantage and is losing blood. You will never have a better prospect than now; take it."

All this time, Athos had been standing still and calm, never speaking and never taking his eyes off Delacroix. He was, in that instant, danger personified and even d'Artagnan was discomforted by the cold, removed expression on his face.

Aramis, d'Artagnan, Porthos and Treville slowly moved to stand equidistant in their circle around the two men about to fight to the death. Drawing themselves up to full height, they stood to attention, their rapiers held vertically upright before them in a unanimous gesture of salute to their brother who prepared to battle.

Athos assumed his position, rapier and main gauche held out before him at shoulder height as he slowly began to circle the other man, everything about him menacing, deadly and calculated. Bordering on the hysterical and driven by desperation, Delacroix lunged first, Athos sidestepping easily and brushing off the attempt with an easy parry. Caught off balance, Delacroix stumbled past him and swung wildly with his sword. Athos countered, their blades clashing repeatedly in a flurry of attempted strikes and deflections.

D'Artagnan watched, heart in mouth as the two fought on. He wanted it over quickly, conscious of the blood stain that continued to spread across Athos' doublet, the occasional wince being the only sign that it bothered him in the slightest but the young Gascon feared that continued blood-loss might slow down his friend, endangering him if the exchange lasted too long.

Porthos realised that he had watched just such a contest once before but that had been in training whereas this was serious, lethal, and he actually found himself feeling momentarily sorry for Delacroix. Aramis had tried to encourage him, said that this was the best chance he would ever have in overcoming Athos but Porthos could see that the opportunity was non-existent. The confrontation was brutal, strategic, unforgiving and ruthless.

Aramis recognised that Athos could have dealt a fatal wound to Delacroix at least twice and had deliberately held back. Was it because he had changed his mind and did not actually want to kill the man who had made his life hell for the preceding weeks and, to a lesser extent, for years? Perhaps Delacroix' recent demonstration of cowardice was too much to worry about; it was repulsive to Athos who valued honour so highly. Aramis had told Treville the evening before that he thought Athos would show no mercy and that was exactly what he was witnessing now but could not blame him. His remaining fear was regarding the impact this might leave on Athos once he had completed meting out justice.

Treville wondered at the display of swordsmanship. It was like a cat playing with a mouse; catching it, releasing it, pursuing it and catching it again. He, too, knew that Athos could have ended the fight several times by now and that it was only by the young man's design that Delacroix was still standing – just. He had been slashed several times by the sharp point of his opponent's weapon, blood streaking his face and arms, and he was growing tired, stumbling around, losing his balance, swinging wildly at Athos and making no impression as he scrambled backwards, breathing hard at his exertion, his eyes growing wider and wider as he awaited the final thrust that would end it all.

Athos' anger was completely controlled, channelled into the fight and it was both persistent and chilling. Treville was relieved that he had never been on the receiving end of such inexorable, frightening skill. Even asTreville watched, he sensed the change in Athos as his attack became even more uncompromising if that were at all possible. The end was close.

Relentlessly, Athos pursued Delacroix, driving him ever backwards, the other men moving the circle of conflict with prisoners and wounded crawling or being dragged out of their path. The only sounds Athos had made at times was a loud grunt with the effort he exuded in each blow whereas Delacroix had been nothing but cries and desperate expletives. That, too, suddenly altered.

Delacroix was tiring fast and he swung again at Athos who merely rocked back on his heels and beyond the range of the other man's blade. Moving in swiftly, he caught Delacroix on the side of the head with a forceful blow from his elbow that sent the man reeling. Staggering a few paces but keeping his feet, Delacroix lunged again but Athos was ready and blocked the blow, emitting a crazed, loud yell. The clash of the blades resounded, the ferocity of the exchange sending a bone-jarring ache through Delacroix' sword arm. Lurching again, Delacroix struggled to maintain a hold on his weapons and Athos advanced once more.

Delacroix thrust his rapier towards the other man's face but there was no energy behind it and, with the force of Athos' return parry, the weapon went flying from Delacroix' hand and skittering across the ground. He made an arc in the air with his remaining weapon in panic, overbalancing in his terror and leaving himself wide open for the fatal blow. With a terrifying roar, Athos pierced him with his rapier just above the navel and his eyes bulged in mild surprise as pain exploded through him. His momentum carried him forward along the weapon and he felt it burst through his back and just to one side of his spine. He dropped his weapon and reached for Athos whose green eyes met his in an emotionless stare. Letting his own main gauche clatter to the ground, Athos steadied Delacroix with his left hand and gave a final push of the rapier up to its hilt, a move that brought both men into close proximity, a mocking intimacy.

He leaned in and whispered in Delacroix' right ear. "This retribution is for all that you have done to damage the Musketeer regiment; for the men who've met their deaths in the past month and here today because of you and Richelieu; and for daring to threaten Treville and my friends. Your jealousy and hatred of me has always been your problem but you are misguided to think that I would endure your treatment for ever without response. You have brought this upon yourself."

He watched as agony and the light of life faded from Delacroix' eyes and a lone tear tracked its way down the dead man's cheek. Whether it was due to remorse for his actions or regret that he had finally been defeated would never be revealed. Athos pushed him away, withdrawing the rapier with a sickening suction sound as the body crashed to the ground.

Athos stood, suddenly aware again of his surroundings and breathing hard at his exertion and the scale of what had happened within the walls of the maison forte. It seemed as if it had been going on for ever but, from the start of the attack to Delacroix' demise had probably taken little more than an hour, if that. Pain flared in his injured side and sweat trickled down his face as waves of exhaustion and nausea washed over him. By the time his friends had approached and surrounded him, he was visibly shaking.

"It's reaction," Aramis commented, recognising the tell-tale signs and immediately trying to examine the wound.

Porthos clapped him on the arm and relieved him of the blood-stained rapier before standing back to allow d'Artagnan to throw an arm around his shoulder.

"It's over. He can't cause problems for you anymore," the young Gascon said, his relief plain for all to hear.

Athos looked again at the body lying at his feet. Delacroix still bore an expression of pained surprise on his face as his eyes stared unseeing at the sky above him. From him, Athos surveyed the area for the first time and pushed d'Artagnan away as he stumbled past him to take in the scene of utter carnage. The central section of the gatehouse had completely blocked the entrance with a pile of rubble and he did not want to dwell on the glimpse of fabric, twisted limbs of men and at least one horse that he saw amongst the debris. A number of other bodies were strewn across the grass, men cut down by musket fire and swords and too many for his mind to register. Men, those who had ridden with him, moved amongst the wounded to give what assistance they could and he found himself thinking that Aramis needed to supervise. A few others – the only survivors of Delacroix and Roland's group – sat in silent, passive submission guarded by four men and most of them bleeding. A number of terrified horses still circled the ground trying to elude the men who attempted to catch and calm the mad creatures. A pistol shot shattered the strange calm, attracting his attention but it was one of his men mercifully putting down a horse that had been seriously wounded in the fray.

He needed to know how many men he had lost and he moved forward amongst the fallen trying not to focus on the number of musketeers' pauldrons amongst the red cloaks of the Cardinal's regiment. He recognised at least two of the painfully young faces of the newest recruits to the King's men, youths who had been pressured by Delacroix to do his bidding and whose leather doublets and pauldrons had not had the time to garner the usual scrapes and scratches that marked their progress from boyhood to soldier. His breath caught as the next body he came across was that of Davide, blood from the fatal wound spreading across his chest like a slowly blossoming flower.

"What's he doing?" Porthos asked, watching Athos as he stood still in the middle of what had been their small but deadly battlefield.

"Taking stock," Treville said simply.

Athos' eyes ranged across the rest of the fallen, trying to count the bodies and those who milled around between them but his mind could not retain the figures. The enormity of what had happened and of what he had done to Delacroix suddenly hit him and bile rose in his throat. Dropping to his hands and knees, he vomited his meagre stomach contents onto the grass.

"Reaction," Aramis said again, unnecessarily.

"Ain't never seen him react like this," Porthos noted.

"This isn't like other times," d'Artagnan observed softly and went to take a step towards his troubled friend but a restricting hand on his chest pulled him up.

"No," said Treville. "I'll deal with this," and he strode towards the stricken young man who remained on all fours.

D'Artagnan turned on his two other friends as if to object but it was Aramis who spoke first.

"Treville is the best one to talk to him right now. He's got experience of this – leading and losing men. He will know the right things to say to Athos if we are not to lose him too."


	47. Chapter 47

_**Evening all. The 'best laid plans' etc didn't quite happen and I'm so sorry the story wasn't finished before I went on holiday. Treville and Athos' conversation was not as easy as I hoped. Thank you so much for all the wonderful comments for the last chapter and the contact from new guests. Hello to the new 'followers' too.**_

_**Here the two men talk and in the next chapter they head back to Paris i readiness for the showdown there.**_

CHAPTER 47

"Come," Treville said, taking Athos by the shoulders and feeling him trembling as he helped him to his feet. "Walk with me." It was an invitation couched in a gentle command and Athos went obediently as Treville led him to the place where they had sat and spoken the previous evening although this time, the Captain deliberately sat him with his back to the scene of horror.

Positioning himself on another block of broken wall rather than next to the younger man, he sat quietly watching him and waiting, seldom having seen him so close to breaking point. Treville was perturbed, knowing full well that their conversation would need careful handling and he hoped that he had the insight to select the most appropriate yet supportive approach. In the years that he had been a soldier and, more importantly, the recent ones following his prestigious appointment as the captain of the musketeers, he could not recall encountering anyone who could be so consumed with guilt and shame.

His overriding concern was Athos' ability to pursue a personal, destructive route, endeavouring to drown out his perceived culpability and failure with a ferocious intake of wine or brandy, seeking oblivion to free him from what he believed were his many shortcomings. The sense of responsibility he would assume in the aftermath of this battle had the potential to plunge him into a period of such self-loathing that Treville and the _Inseparables_ would be hard pressed to convince him of his own worth.

Treville was torn. Acutely aware that he was no longer a young man, at some point he would be expected to retire and that was always assuming that he was not killed leading his men in some skirmish or as the victim of another plot akin to the one that had just occurred. It was a matter to which he had already given much thought, hence his lack of hesitation in naming Athos as his temporary replacement; it was all part of his long term plan. He saw so much in the younger man that made him ideal in assuming permanent command of the regiment when the time came – not least in strategy as had been demonstrated that very day - and recognised that the reluctant Comte de la Fére had a far greater skill in diplomacy than he did. Treville had spent his time honing the skills of the younger man, mentoring him and assigning him specific missions and responsibility without ever fully declaring his ultimate intention until now. It was, though, Athos' past and subsequent emotional suppression that gave him a disquieting unpredictability that required more attention and Treville was determined to counsel and tutor the young man to become the fine officer that he knew was there all the time, if Athos could only be persuaded to believe it.

He had hoped that the brief sojourn as captain of the regiment would have done much to facilitate that greater confidence and from what Treville had learned from the man's friends and in brief discussions with other musketeers who had also resigned, Athos had more than demonstrated his ability to lead but Delacroix – with some help from Richelieu - had set about attempting to undermine that same assurance, both physically and mentally. There was no way of knowing just how much psychological damage had already been inflicted on the young man before this devastating battle and Treville knew that the next few days at most were the crux of the matter as to whether or not Athos was suitable officer material; he was determined to see him through.

Athos' cheeks burned with embarrassment at his own apparent weakness and he struggled to compose himself. Self-conscious that Treville sat patiently, he eventually spoke, his voice cracking. "So many dead."

"Yes, but it could have been worse." Treville was adopting a pragmatic approach.

"How could it have been worse?" Athos was disbelieving.

"At a rough count, there are about seventeen dead, plus the two you slew yesterday, and possibly some fifteen wounded, including yourself. I can't say for definite but the numbers look to be about that. I don't know how many of the dead were with you but I've spotted at least eight pauldrons amongst the fatalities. Had Delacroix had his way, there would have been all twenty-eight of us dead and I would have hoped that we would have added some of their number to the tally."

Treville fell silent; he knew Athos was listening carefully from his body language. He sighed and tried a different tack. "I remember the first time I lost men under my command. It was a few years before Louis created his Musketeers and I was nothing but a raw lieutenant in another regiment. Louis had come of age but his mother – you can't forget Marie de Medici and her recent reappearance - did not give up her position as Regent for another three years. There was rebellion from some of the nobles, including Henri, Prince of Condé who was next in line to the throne after Louis' younger brother, Gaston. Some of it was on account of an Italian, Concini, who was very unpopular because he was a foreigner and she was relying upon him too heavily. She even had Condé imprisoned to protect her favourite but that led to more uprisings from the nobles. That's where I came in.

"The intelligencer had given us some information about rebel movement but he had got it wrong. I was leading my men into a trap and the first I knew about it was when I was showered with the blood and brains of my second who was riding by my side. The next thing I was on the ground having been hit in the shoulder. I don't recall to this day the orders I gave, all I know is I gave some and it was enough for us to regroup and respond. Somehow we carried the day and that particular noble and his men were defeated but there were heavy losses on both sides. One of them was my then closest friend; he died in my arms calling for his mother and not even conscious of the fact that I was there with him.

"After that, all was a haze of pain and fever. It was five days before I found out that I had lost eight men, all of whom had already been buried and I had not attended the ceremony that laid them to rest; my commanding officer had also informed the families in my stead. I felt ..." and here he paused, "helpless, not a part of it. I had not seen them fall, I had not seen their bodies and I never saw them buried. My own goodbyes came later when I stood at their gravesides and said I was sorry; sorry for not being there for them when they needed me, sorry for not protecting them and for not realising we were riding into trouble ..."

"It wasn't your fault," Athos interrupted, his voice low.

"No it wasn't," Treville admitted, "and today isn't yours either. Back then, it took me a long time to see it though; enough time for me to drink myself insensible several nights in succession because it was the only way I could get any sleep and even then it didn't keep the bad dreams at bay."

"Does it get any easier?" Athos asked, aware that he was being allowed a rare glimpse of what lay behind the veneer of rank. Humbled by what he was hearing, Athos' voice was so soft that Treville almost missed it.

"No, never; you just learn how to deal with it better."

"How do I deal with it now?"

Treville thought for a moment and considered the importance of his next words. "Firstly you spend time with those whose wounds are fatal; they need your reassurance and presence and you try your hardest to comfort them in their passing. Then you check on the men who are injured. After that, you deal with the mortal remains of those who have died before you write the letters to their loved ones, again endeavouring to find the words that will help them mourn. When there is nothing else to be done, you can be alone and then you can grieve for the men you have lost." Treville's voice had gone quiet, wistful almost, the change in his tone attracting Athos' attention so that he raised his head to look at the older man for the first time.

"And do you?" Athos whispered. "Do you still grieve for the men you have lost?"

Treville nodded. "Every time. I remember each and every one of them and their names. Sometimes they come to me in my sleep."

"More nightmares?"

"On the contrary, they often come as old friends, smiling and reminding me of happier days. There are undoubtedly those times, though, when their presence brings naught but sadness, when my mistake has led to their deaths. There will be mistakes, Athos; you have to realise that. No-one is infallible – least of all you – and they are the hardest losses to bear, along with those who fall victim to the decisions that are made above you and beyond your control or knowledge." He let his words penetrate before adding, "Such as Savoy."

Athos sat perfectly still, listening carefully but what he was hearing did little to assuage the anguish clouding his features.

"You have to keep going though; it's expected of you from those above you who give you some of your orders and from the men who look up to you, requiring you to lead them. When the odds are against you, you try to make a decision that is the least costly in human terms but it is always hard, especially when you know that the decision you make can have no other outcome than the deaths of the men concerned," Treville went on.

The silence hung heavy between them.

"Like the six who left Paris with you?" Athos dared to ask.

"The very same; not a day went by whilst I was locked in that room when I did not think of them and shed tears for the waste."

Athos thought long and hard about the effect of those losses on the older man; he had never really stopped to consider how the devastating responsibilities of command might take their toll on anyone, not least the man he revered so much and he found it hard to envisage his mentor reduced to tears.

"Could I have done anything differently?" he asked eventually.

"No you couldn't. I said it before and I repeat it now. Given what you knew, the resources you had, you gave your men the best chance they could have had. From what I have seen, your losses are considerably less than for Delacroix and Roland. The collapse of the archway was also fortuitous, although we will need to clear that if we are to leave this place."

There was another lengthy pause. "I didn't behave very honourably towards Delacroix, did I? The man had yielded and instead of accepting his surrender, I tormented him, tortured him even – he was so afraid."

Treville sighed again; sometimes it was exhausting trying to fight the younger man's sense of guilt. "Perhaps not but at the end of the day, Delacroix made his own choices. He sided with Richelieu, he sought his own ends. No-one made him behave the way he did and nor are you to hold yourself accountable for the depth of jealousy and hatred he harboured against you. I gave him the ultimate choice – surrender and face the consequences with shame or fight and face a more honourable death on the battlefield. _ I _gave him that choice and you facilitated it."

"But I had my own agenda," Athos faltered.

"Granted. Remind yourself of what he has done to you though. Where was the honour in that? A good commander thinks of his men, leads them – hopefully - with wisdom and by good example. Where was Delacroix' leadership? His good example? Where were his care and responsibility for the men under his command at the garrison and on the battlefield here? Would he mourn the losses that he has instigated? I fear not. That is just one of the many ways in which you and he differ so significantly and for which I thank God. You are tearing yourself apart for the men you have lost when you could not have done anything else."

Athos did not respond but sat, head bowed, as if unconvinced by what he was hearing. Treville continued to watch him closely and recognised the inner struggle of a man desperate to keep a tight rein on his emotions.

Immediately resolved, Treville stood. "We will talk further on this; there is too much for you to accept at present and your friends will soon be seeking you to treat that scratch that is bothering you. Therefore, with your agreement, I shall assume some command and see how the men are sorting things out although," and here Treville turned his attention to where the soldiers were already working at straightening the chaotic aftermath of the battle, "they are well trained and disciplined and do not appear to need much guidance."

Athos swiped at an eye with a heel of his hand and made to stand also.

"Where do you think you are going?" Treville asked, laying a hand on his shoulder to restrain him, once again aware of the tremors coursing through the slender frame.

"I have things that need my attention, even you have said so," Athos answered.

"I think my advice can be a little flexible this time. I will start seeing to them. You will remain here and weep for the men you have lost." His hand moved to rest on the tousled head as if in the act of benediction to a heart sorely charged, "And when all the tears have been spent, you will compose yourself and come back to be with the living, for they have need of you too."

Treville walked away towards the other Inseparables who had not strayed far but he stopped once to turn back and look at the figure who had folded in on himself, shaking as he gave vent to the suppressed grief that had been threatening to overwhelm him for so long. As the older man stood there, he was joined by Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan.

"Will he be all right?" Porthos asked, his brow creased in concern as he looked past the officer to the lonely figure of his friend awash with misery.

Treville gave a tentative smile. "Oh yes. It will take time but he will come to terms with this."


	48. Chapter 48

_**Okay, so here is one of those 'extra' chapters that mainly springs from nowhere (ie the original plan) but ultimately arose from the conversation of ch 47. Thank you so much to all of you who have commented since yesterday. It was lovely to have all your feedback once again.**_

CHAPTER 48

The surviving main chamber on the ground floor of the maison forte was being used by Aramis as an infirmary and he had given a swift instruction for the wounded of both sides to be carried or helped there. The worst lay in a row in the middle of the room whilst the remainder sat propped against a wall and tried, as quietly as possible, to wait their turn. Medical supplies were very limited and d'Artagnan was sitting cross-legged on the stone floor, slitting a couple of donated clean shirts into makeshift bandages and pads for wounds.

Aramis was focused on tending a severely wounded Red Guard and wondering how much longer his remaining jar of salve could last. He had no other means of staving off infection for some of the men and he doubted very much if any of them still had any alcohol stashed away in a saddle bag. He would ask nonetheless. Porthos was outside at a newly lit fire having been given detailed instructions by him as to how to brew a further supply of a herbal concoction that would go some way to alleviate pain. Although the great hearth in the chamber was intact, they had no way of knowing whether or not the chimney remained unblocked further up and had decided not to take a risk by lighting a fire there; a cloud of smoke and ashes billowing back into the room would not help the injured.

As he finished tying off a bandage and pressed the back of his hand against the man's forehead to detect any signs of fever, he sensed someone had quietly approached and stood behind his right shoulder.

"Can you report on the injured?" Athos asked.

Aramis pushed up easily and turned, keeping his expression unmoved even as he took in the red-rimmed, puffy eyes that were in stark contrast to the face that was even paler than usual. "Another of Roland's men died about fifteen minutes ago so we have thirteen wounded here, some of them seriously, and I have very few supplies with which to help them."

"Any that will not last the day?"

"Two that I doubt will see the next hour. One is a musketeer recruit, gut shot," and Aramis indicated where the boy lay, expending the last vestiges of his energy on weeping loudly in agony and fear. "The other is Claude."

"Not Claude," Athos groaned for the man had been a seasoned veteran of campaigns when the young comte had joined the regiment. "Where is he?"

Aramis rotated a little and inclined his head, indicating to where Treville knelt beside a man, his low voice carrying to the pair who stood and watched but the content was indistinct, all suggesting that this final, precious conversation between an officer and a faithful soldier was not to be disturbed.

"Which one is likely to succumb first?"

"The boy," Aramis said with a frustrated sigh. "I can do no more for him. I gave him the last of the pain killing draught but it has not touched his agony."

Athos looked to where the recruit tossed restlessly. "It is not his fault that Delacroix led him astray. He will not die alone," but before he could take a step, a hand snaked out and caught him at the elbow.

"Athos?" It was just his name but Aramis managed by the inflection to load the word with so many questions, his anxious eyes searching the face of his troubled friend.

"I am fine." At Aramis' raised eyebrow, Athos gave a wan smile and corrected himself, "I will be fine. It's just that ..." and he broke off, unable to continue as he surveyed the room of injured soldiers and his green eyes grew watery again.

Aramis could not contain himself and pulled the other man into a warm embrace, ignoring the fact that, even as he did so, he felt Athos stiffen at the affectionate display and the pull on his damaged side. "I understand, my friend. Just remember that we are here for you." He released Athos and stepped back to study him once more. "Do what you have to do and then come back to me so that I can look at that injury. I cannot have you developing an infection or fever at this stage; I do not have the means to help you fight it and I doubt that you have the strength."

The exchange, watched by d'Artagnan from where he sat on the floor, was all that was needed for Athos to recover himself. There was that familiar dip of the head, unaccompanied by words as he strode away along the line and dropped to his knees beside the dying musketeer.

Although of a similar age to d'Artagnan, the boy's anguish at the prospect of imminent death made him look so much younger and more vulnerable and as Athos sank to the floor beside him, his expression changed to fear as he recognised the renegade and recalled the slanderous stories Delacroix had told.

"Ssshhhh," Athos said gently, laying a hand on the clammy forehead and tenderly beginning to stroke aside sweat-soaked tendrils of hair. He searched his memory for the name of the recruit, momentarily panicking when it eluded him for he could not sit with a dying soldier and not know his name, nor could he be so unfeeling as to ask the youth to identify himself. Suddenly the name came to him in a rush – Antoine.

The boy whimpered at his soothing ministrations. "It's so cold," he moaned before clenching his teeth as another wave of pain tore through his body.

"Perhaps this will help," Athos said softy and, as smoothly as he could, he eased the boy's head and shoulders into his lap, eyeing the devastatingly fatal wound as he did so. He wrapped his arms around the youth in a futile attempt to lend comfort and impart some of his own body warmth. "Hush," he repeated as an agonised cry escaped the recruit at the movement.

"Mother," the boy wept. "I want my mother."

"I know, lad, I know and she would be with you if she could. I'm afraid you'll have to make do with me," Athos attempted to smile some reassurance to temper the boy's fears and fleetingly wished, for the young soldier's sake, that the end would come swiftly and then immediately berated himself for letting the thought even cross his mind. A blood-stained hand clutched desperately at his sleeve as if by doing so the boy could cling to life itself.

"It hurts," he gasped between gritted teeth.

"I know, Antoine," Athos repeated. "Take my hand," and as he held the boy close in one arm, he extended his other hand, wincing in surprise as the boy relinquished his hold on the sleeve and transferred his death-like grip to the proffered hand.

"I'm sorry," Antoine sobbed noisily.

"Hush, you have no reason to apologise," Athos gently chided.

"But I do. The Captain said so many things about you, I didn't want to believe him but ..." and here the boy broke off in an anguished gasp, drawing his knees up to stave off another wave of pain as he turned his face towards Athos body. The older man tightened his hold.

"Enough, Antoine," he said reassuringly. "We all know what Delacroix said and what he did. You are not responsible."

Pain knifed relentlessly through the shuddering frame and it was clear that Antoine was growing weaker by the minute but still his frantic eyes sought Athos' face and struggled to focus. "Forgive me," he begged in a throaty whisper.

"Of course I forgive you," Athos said softly. "Completely." The boy was not responsible for the day's debacle; he had merely followed orders and held no personal grudge.

"Thank you." The words came out as little more than a quietly exhaled breath and his eyes slid shut so that Athos erroneously thought the boy had slipped away but suddenly, they flew open again in undisguised panic and Antoine struggled to move himself upwards, scrabbling at Athos' arm. "I don't want to die," he cried. "I'm scared." He was suddenly imbued with a desperate strength and Athos held him fast, trying to soothe him. "Pray for me," he beseeched.

Frantic, Athos swivelled his head to look for Aramis who was much better at this; he had the faith for a start, but the other man was engaged in cleaning a heavily bleeding leg wound and did not need the distraction.

"Please," came the agonised entreaty once more.

How could Athos deny a dying man's last wish even when he wrestled with his own spiritual confusion? He cleared his throat, his mind racing as he sought the appropriate words of comfort the dying boy needed. "Dear Father, forgive your servant, Antoine, any wrong doing this day. Spare him from further pain and take away his fear as he prepares to come home to you now. Welcome him ..." and Athos faltered as Antoine cried aloud, his back arching and his body going rigid for what seemed like forever. At last, he relaxed and sank back, a great sigh escaping him as his head fell limply against the other man's arm, his eyes unseeing. Staring at the lifeless form he held and shocked beyond feeling, Athos continued to intone his prayer, "Welcome him home into your care. Allow him the love and peace he deserves at the end of this day's strife ." He paused, unable to think of anything else to say and wondered if his clumsy attempt would suffice. "Amen," he finished lamely and lowered the boy to the ground, staying long enough to close the eyes one last time before clambering to his feet and moving in the direction of the other dying man, only vaguely aware of the uncomfortable wetness that started at his waist and finished somewhere mid-thigh, mute testimony of the way in which the young recruit had bled out from his fatal wound. He was oblivious to the horrific sight that he presented as the young recruit's life blood mingled with the stain of his own.

"We gave 'em what for, Sir," Claude said with a cross between a grin and a grimace as Athos squatted beside him and across from Treville, who nodded his approval at Athos' joining them.

"No need to call me 'sir', Claude. You know better than that now we have the Captain safely back with us again," Athos gently chided, a warm smile on his lips.

"Begging' pardon, Sir," Claude directed towards Treville, "but this young whippersnapper will always be an officer to me too, 'specially the way he commanded the garrison when you'd gone. Kept our spirits up, you know."

Athos flushed with embarrassment and gave an amused snort at being described as a 'young whippersnapper' but his mirth was short-lived as Claude broke off from his anecdote to give a pained, rattling cough. When he tried to resume his tale, his words were punctuated by great wheezing breaths.

"Save your strength," Treville advised, his hand resting comfortingly on the wounded man's shoulder. There was a certain strangeness in the situation as Athos could have sworn that of the two men. Claude was older than the Captain by several years.

"Come, Captain," Claude said, raising a sardonic eyebrow. "You and I have been at this game long enough to know I'll not be needin' my strength where I'm goin' afore too long. 'Ope you don't think as how I'm speaking out of turn, Sir, if I gives you a piece of advice. I think with the time I've got left and on account of the years you and I 'ave served together, I've earned that right."

"Go on then, Claude, speak your mind," Treville invited, his eyes twinkling as the older soldier reached for and clasped his hand.

"You look after this boy," and he indicated Athos with a slight turn of the head. "He's the makin's of a fine officer. That's why I was prepared to throw it all away an' follow 'im. That other one was destroyin' the regiment. All of us could see it an' we was despairin' of ever findin' you again until 'e said as 'ow 'e was comin' lookin' for you so I decides to come too."

"And I will always be beholden to you for that," Treville said to Claude before lifting his eyes to look across the fallen soldier to the young man who was the subject of Claude's advice. "All of you."

"Well like I said, he's goin' to be a great officer afore too long," Claude said again and gave way to another paroxysm of coughing.

Treville's grip on his hand tightened. "Both you and I and a whole heap of other people can see it, Claude. I'm just waiting for the day when the young fool sees it for himself."

Claude gave a breathy chuckle and turned his attention to Athos. "You listen and you listen good, boy, and if you think I'm bein' disrespectful, well," and he broke off for another spasm of coughing that left blood-speckled phlegm glistening on his lips. It was Treville who took up a cloth with his free hand and tenderly wiped away the mess and it was another minute or so before Claude had the breath to continue. "Well, then you put me on a charge, the pair o' you, an' I'll answer to it tomorrow." When he laughed again this time at his own black humour, there was no bitterness but he sounded weaker. "'Ave faith, boy; faith in yourself. Every last one of us who came with you did so because we trusted an' believed in you an' we'd do it all again. Don't you ever doubt it. There're two men that I'd follow through the gates of hell itself, and they're both with me now." He laughed again but it was fluid-filled and ugly sounding. "Looks like I'm the one goin' first on this occasion though. Been a pleasure to serve with you, both of you."

They were his last words for he was wracked by another bout of coughing that went on relentlessly, blood bubbling up from his lungs and down his chin. Treville raised him up to see if that would ease his breathing, dabbing at the man's mouth with the heavily stained cloth but to no avail. Claude's end was a pain-filled, gasping struggle and his passing was a thankful release.

"Farewell, old friend," Treville said sadly as he settled the dead man down on the floor. "It has been a pleasure and an honour to serve with you too."

The two men fell silent, each reflecting on the words of the old soldier and the earlier conversation that had passed between them. At length, Athos rose to his feet.

"I've been thinking," he announced.

"Go on." Treville studied him closely, relieved to see that apart from the tell-tale signs that the younger man had recently been weeping, there was a reassuringly calm demeanour about him again.

"I have suggestions to make."

"You have the command," Treville reminded him.

Athos momentarily looked surprised. "But I thought you resumed command."

"I took some command, yes, but that was to give you some time when you needed it. These men followed you here and they should continue to do so. You all resigned your commissions so I have no authority over any of you."

"Yes but ..." Athos looked as if he had been struck by Treville's frank words and the reminder that he and all the others with him were no longer musketeers of the King's Regiment.

"But?" Treville prompted.

"I only had the command in your absence; that was the understanding. We resigned because of what Delacroix was doing whilst he had command but now he is dead. You are the Captain; you have your rightful place; you know we would follow your lead whether we were musketeers or not."

"Then _my_ suggestion is that we get back to Paris as quickly as possible so that I can see the King on behalf of all of you and hope that I can appeal to him to reinstate you all."

"Do you think he will listen? He was not particularly happy with me the last time our paths crossed when I was stripped of my command," Athos said, thinking of the embarrassing encounter with Louis.

"And you haven't seen him since then?"

"Well there was one more occasion but I do not think that counts. I passed out on the throne room floor. It was after the king had left," he hastened to add as Treville's eyes widened in surprise. "That's another story."

"Why do I suspect I still don't know everything that's been going on in my absence, even after a long conversation with Athos?" Treville queried. "No, don't answer that, not now at least. I'm more concerned with the idea of a large portion of my regiment roaming aimlessly around the French countryside when they would be far better employed back where they belong in Paris as part of the King's elite men. That's the point I will put to him very forcefully, as well as enlightening His Majesty as to some of Delacroix' more individualistic shortcomings."

"And what of Richelieu? Will you tell the King of his part in all this? You have your book and what has been happening since you were waylaid on the Paris road. There must be enough to bring about his downfall."

"There's plenty of evidence now and before we get back to Paris, I suggest we have a very careful conversation with one Captain Roland. I'm sure he'll have plenty to divulge too. I intend for Louis to know exactly what the Cardinal has been involved in but I would prefer to have all of you safely re-commissioned first. We both know how petulant our King can be and he is going to be very upset when he realises the lengths his precious personal advisor goes to in order to maintain power; I do not want him to take out his anger on all of you and me by refusing to restore you to the regiment."

Athos carefully considered what Treville was saying and it made perfect sense.

"Besides," continued the Captain of the King's Musketeers, a slight smile beginning to play on his lips, "I was thinking that perhaps you and I could first pay a separate visit to our illustrious Cardinal Richelieu, just to reassure him that we are both alive and well and that we would like to have a private little discussion with him."


	49. Chapter 49

_**Thank you once again for all the wonderful, thoughtful and encouraging comments yesterday for the last chapter and my apologies for the error towards the end when Treville said he'd had a lengthy conversation with Athos; it was, of course, Aramis (he was talking to Athos!) careless proofreading on my part. Sadly no prizes for those who spotted it!**_

_**A more reflective chapter here as they count the cost of the skirmish and begin to head back to Paris and the showdown with Richelieu and Louis - it's time to start tying up the loose ends.**_

CHAPTER 49

Aramis was angry. "You're a damned fool," he snapped, pulling Athos' shirt up and over his head with a little more force than he intended.

"That's the second time I've been called that today," Athos said ruefully as he emerged from the filthy linen and exchanged glances with Treville who stood, arms folded, at Aramis' side.

"Well, has it occurred to you that there might be some truth in the comment?" Aramis probed at the long, bloodied line on Athos' body, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from his patient. "You're lucky; it is just a crease, has stopped bleeding and won't need stitches but I had explicitly told you to do what you needed to do and then come and find me. That was not an open invitation for you to find loads of other tasks that just _had _to be done right then so that I had to come looking for you."

"But they did have to be done," Athos objected tiredly. He recognised that Aramis was equally exhausted from having dealt with so many injuries as he was the one within the regiment with the most medical comprehension and that was a primary cause of the man's ire but, from experience, he also understood that his friend's wrath was borne of concern for him and he was loathe to add to it.

"Such as?" Aramis demanded as he bathed the long ugly line with salted water, knowing full well that it would sting madly and unsurprised by the hiss that resulted. "I have nothing else to use against infection; it is this or nothing," he explained, hearing the harshness in his own voice and unable to quell it. "Had you come when I told you to, I may well have had some salve left."

"Is that your idea of 'rubbing salt into the wound'?" Athos quipped, gasping at the smarting in his side.

"Very good!" Aramis retorted, endeavouring to keep a straight face and failing. "You are beginning to sound more like your old self but I still expect you to explain what detained you."

Athos thought his side was on fire and, through gritted teeth and in an attempt to distract himself, he began to list what he had done that had kept him from seeking out Aramis. "I sent men to replenish the water supply and set a work force to begin clearing the collapsed archway. We need an exit path for horses; we might be able to scramble over rubble through the breaches in the walls but the animals cannot. The Captain and I," and here he looked to Treville to confirm what he was about to say with a nod of approval, "have decided that Roland's men and Delacroix will be buried here within the grounds of the maison forte. We don't have the right tools and some men are trying to break up the soil with the dirks of the dead. It will be hard enough giving them a burial so we need to minimise numbers."

"Hold this," Aramis ordered as he placed a pad against Athos' side and began to bandage it with two long strips of torn shirt tied together.

"As for the others," and Athos hesitated to gather himself, "I was thinking that I would speak to Robert Fallon at Clairmont and ask if we could lay them to rest with their brothers. Perhaps we could arrange some reparation for the people of the village to care for the graves as an extension of the musketeer cemetery but that is a matter for another day. Delacroix does not deserve to lie with his brothers but those who rode with him were, in the main, soldiers merely following orders and this should not be held against them.

Aramis placed one hand on the top of Athos' head and the other under his chin, tilting it to one side to inspect the bruising round his eye from the earlier beating. As Aramis released him and walked round to stand behind him to inspect the lacerations from the flogging, Athos continued.

"The men and prisoners are hungry and need to eat so the shot horse and the one killed in the gatehouse collapse will be utilised for meat. I have got another group preparing them now. I hope that it will be palatable for at least some of the injured; they need to keep up their strength if we are to move them. That is why, when he has eaten, I have Porthos taking some men back to Clairmont later today to see if they have any carts we can borrow for the dead and injured. They could make some of the journey by tonight, rest somewhere en route and continue early tomorrow. If Robert can lend us the carts, Porthos and the others can be back with us by tomorrow night and we will depart the next morning. Even taking it slowly for the injured, we can make Clairmont by that same evening."

Aramis returned into his line of vision and squatted before him with a deep sigh. "You have been busy," he said, his anger spent.

Athos nodded and thought about the injuries he could not see. "How does it all look?"

"Your side will pull for a while so don't move suddenly or awkwardly. I think we can safely say that you have no cracked or broken ribs from that beating. The bruises on your face and body are turning interesting shades of green and yellow so they are getting better. As for your back, it's healing well, although there will be some scarring but that, too, can fade with time."

"It's all looking good then," Athos said, attempting an encouraging smile, but that slipped as Aramis reached out and cupped the back of his neck.

"How many times do I have to patch you up?" Aramis whispered. "There have been too many occasions in recent weeks: the mushroom poisoning, the flogging and what happened after that, the beating, the fight with Bertram and Delacroix. How many more times?"

"I am intending to make these the last for a while." Athos struggled to lighten the mood, disquieted by its sudden intensity.

Aramis shook his head and forced the issue that had been uppermost in his own mind. "I can use all the salves I can lay my hands on and the bandages for the outside, but what about what's happening on the inside?" and he removed his hand to tap gently with a forefinger against Athos' temple. "I have no draught or salve that can make that any better. How can I help you? Tell me."

Dark eyes held green in an unblinking stare and it was as if both men held their breath for many heartbeats.

...

The rest of that day and most of the next passed in a whirl of activity. Graves were dug as best as possible in the hard ground and Roland's men and Delacroix were given respectful burial. They may have been the enemy but they were still soldiers and warranted some deference in that they had fallen on the field of battle. A cover of broken stone was laid on the graves and some of the men had taken the time to whittle a marker for the each one, carving their names in the wood and the date they died.

All the horses, including those of the attacking force, were let loose on the grass to graze and enjoy some freedom before they were tethered again but their space in the coolness of the outbuilding was used to lay out the dead who had been with Delacroix and Athos.

Athos and Treville between them tallied the final number of casualties and it was a grim reality. Of the twenty-eight men defending the maison forte, three were killed in battle and Claude died later whilst six others, including Athos himself, had been wounded to some degree. The Red Guard, adding the men who had been guarding Treville when Athos first arrived, suffered eight losses with two of those crushed by the collapsing gatehouse archway with a further five wounded, including Roland.

It was Delacroix' losses that were heaviest and they would have the most devastating, cumulative effect overall on the regiment. Besides himself, Bertram and Silvey, two other experienced musketeers had fallen in battle, another was shot dead before the skirmish began and four recruits had died, although it had taken Antoine longer to succumb to his wounds. In total, twenty-three men out of sixty-five had lost their lives, and for what?

Once Porthos and two men left for Clairmont to request the carts, two of Athos' unscathed men refilled water skins and bottles and another two took on the onerous task of lighting fires and putting together makeshift spits for roasting meat to satisfy their hunger. Wood was collected to maintain the fires as the men were unanimous in their intention to sleep another night under the stars.

Aramis, d'Artagnan and Clarence kept up a relentless vigil over the wounded of both sides. A minimum guard was set to watch over the ten healthy prisoners and the remaining four – with Treville and Athos assisting when they could - began the heavy job of clearing a path through the archway, the bodies of the dead horse and Roland's men having previously been removed.

When time and commitment allowed, the men went down to the river in groups and stripped, eager to wash the smell of death and battle from their clothes, skin and hair before they returned to the fires and ate their fill of the hot roasted meat.

It was the morning after the battle when Treville and Athos entered the temporary infirmary with the intention of putting their questions to Roland, only to be warned by Aramis that he had developed an infection in his wound and was falling victim to a worsening fever. They persevered with their questions, relieved to find that the sick man was eager to assist them. He had had plenty of time to ponder the Cardinal's final instructions, Delacroix' involvement and found that his own loyalty was waning in the face of so many casualties. Consequently, he told the men everything they needed to know.

As they left the wounded, Athos took Aramis aside. "You're almost asleep on your feet. Get some rest, that's an order. D'Artagnan and Clarence can take over for a while and then I'll send a couple of men to help you when you wake so that they can take their turn in sleeping."

Aramis began to protest but Athos silenced him. "You have looked after me enough in recent weeks, allow me the opportunity to do the same for you," and he waited until Aramis took himself to a corner of the room, rolled himself in a blanket and curled up on the floor. Despite the uncomfortable surface, such was his exhaustion that he was swiftly asleep once he had given up the fight. Athos smiled to himself and hastened to join Treville who had already headed outside to continue helping those shifting the debris from the archway.

It was mid-evening that day when Porthos and his companions returned with two carts loaned by the people of Clairmont who, on hearing what had transpired since the renegades left them were horrified and glad to do their part in providing a final resting place for more of the King's regiment. They would make preparation as they awaited the arrival of Athos, Treville, the men, prisoners, wounded and dead.

As the sombre column headed out the next morning led by Athos and Treville, the younger man momentarily stood in the stirrups to look back over his shoulder at the scene of so much carnage. Sitting back in his saddle, he glanced across at the man who rode beside him, the search for whom had brought him to the accursed site in the first place.

"I am not sorry to see the last of this maison forte," he declared.

Treville smiled, "Nor I. I spent more than enough time here."

Their conversation lapsed as each listened to the familiar noises behind them: the rumble of the cart wheels, the jangle of harness, horses' hooves and the exchange between men. For many, the topic of conversation was the same; whether or not they would be reinstated into the musketeer regiment.

"Given how long we have been absent, do you think we could delay our return to Paris by two more days?" Athos asked.

"What's going though your mind?" Treville asked.

"When we have left Clairmont, perhaps we could do a detour to the monastery. Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan stopped there when they were searching for you. Father Benedict would be delighted to know that you are safe; he was most concerned for you and," Athos hesitated, wondering how his commanding officer would react to his request, "I thought we could ask the brothers to say a mass for the dead, all of them."

They rode on a few more paces until Treville gave his answer. "I think that is an excellent suggestion. Any further delay in informing the King and Richelieu about what has happened will not hurt; they cannot find out about it any other way as all involved are with us or dead. A stop at the monastery will only be beneficial. I think it will provide a fitting end to what has been happening to all of us and their herbalist might be able to replenish Aramis' medicine supply for the wounded on the journey. We'll do it."


	50. Chapter 50

_**A short chapter today and I am sorry to say that we do march inexorably towards the end. Ch 51 will appear (all being well) on Friday, with THE chapter (that I know loads of you are waiting for) posting on Saturday and the very final one on Sunday. I hope you'll be pleased to hear that the next story is now in the planning stages (although I doubt it will match the epic scale of this one) and will occur early in the canon of series 2 but more about that at the weekend. As always, my heartfelt thanks to those who regularly comment and respond, those who have newly commented/favourited/followed and the many of you who give your continued, quiet support by just reading. Thank you.  
**_

CHAPTER 50

The column rode into Clairmont in the late afternoon, the journey having been slow and uneventful due to the repeated stops for Aramis and d'Artagnan to check upon the comfort of the wounded and ensure that they were drinking water.

When they had left the maison forte an hour after sunrise, both carts had been almost at the head of the column behind Treville and the _Inseparables_, but ahead of the prisoners. However, as the day wore on and the sun's heat increased, it was expedient to move the cart bearing the dead to the rear with two men riding as rearguard and struggling to keep flies at bay. The thirteen they carried to Clairmont had already been dead for nearly forty-eight hours; their dried blood and the heat accelerating putrefaction was having an undesirable effect, the cumulative stench rising from the cart causing the men in the immediate vicinity to tie scarves over their noses and mouths in an attempt to eliminate the unpleasantly sickly, cloying smell.

Athos was beginning to doubt the wisdom of his decision to bear them to Clairmont. Stricken with an unanticipated yet additional burden of guilt, he could not help wondering whether he had done the dead a disservice by not getting the corpses in the ground sooner and he fell silent, the frown on his face bearing witness to Treville that he was once again wrestling with conflicting thoughts.

"Speak your mind," Treville said eventually, trying to take advantage of the way in which Athos had begun to open up to him of late. He listened as the young man poured out his misgivings about taking the bodies to Clairmont and expressed his own view.

"None of us anticipated the climbing temperatures today but, according to you, we should be in Clairmont within the next two hours. That leaves us more than enough time to bury them by nightfall; I doubt that we will be able to afford them any other preparation for they need to be in the ground today. Thankfully we had not decided to transport them all the way back to Paris and the garrison cemetery. True, it might have been better to have left them at the maison forte but I concur with your reasoning as to why we didn't. I would far prefer to have them laid to rest with their brothers rather than where they fell or with Delacroix. I would have made the same decision."

"Even if it later appeared to be the wrong one, like now?" Athos asked tentatively.

"Most definitely," Treville grinned. "Like I said to you before, we can all make mistakes."

"Like making decisions with our hearts rather than our heads?"

"Assuredly! It reminds the men that you're still a human being." He threw a sideways glance at the younger man and did his best to feign a scolding tone but even Athos could detect the lack of genuine severity in their delivery. "As long as you don't make a habit of it!"

It was, in fact, just over an hour later when they reached their destination and, as before, the villagers of Clairmont streamed out of their houses and from their work places in welcome.

Athos brought the column to a halt in the centre where he saw that Fallon awaited him and slid from his saddle. The villager, who had become more of a friend, moved to meet him and grasped his hand firmly.

"Athos, I am so pleased to see you again. When you rode from here days ago I did not know what to think and then, when Porthos arrived yesterday morning with his request, he described what had happened. I can't believe it!"

"Thank you, Robert, and thank you and the people of Clairmont once again for helping us. I'm sorry that it seems to be becoming a habit," Athos responded. Suddenly aware that Treville had approached on his left, he moved to accommodate the officer. "Let me introduce you. This is Captain Treville of the king's Musketeers. Sir, this is Robert Fallon."

"Captain, I am so glad that we are able to meet at last, I have heard much about you," Fallon said, smiling broadly as gave the officer an equally firm handshake.

"And I you, Monsiur Fallon," the sincerity in Treville's voice clear. "I cannot begin to express my thanks to you and all who live here for what you have done for my men already. Forgive us for putting upon you yet again."

"Think nothing of it," Fallon assured him and began to introduce the officer to the elders of the village who ranged around him in a semi-circle. That done, he reminded them of the bleak reason as to why they were there. "We have prepared the graves according to the number Porthos said and pray that you have not lost anymore men since then." Athos reassured him with a shake of the head. "Some of the older men have also made markers. It comforts us to know your dead will have their rightful names this time."

There was no hurry about proceedings but arrangements were deftly and respectfully handled; the musketeers gingerly retrieving the grim remains from one cart whilst some of the villagers moved unbidden to carry the wounded into their biggest building where womenfolk began to tend them. All gathered at the gravesides, including the able prisoners to be reminded of the cost of their actions and because some of their own were also being laid to rest. Treville gave an impromptu eulogy for the fallen and one of the village elders spoke more words before many stepped forward to help re-covering the bodies. Once the fresh earth had been compacted, people began to drift away and moved to stand beside Athos, his face clouded with embarrassment.

"You are more than welcome to stay, as last time, and we are happy to share with you what we have – freshly made bread and pottage - but I fear we do not have enough to temper the hunger in fighting men. When those who sought you rode through here, what they could not gorge themselves with in the evening, they took with them the next morning to bolster their supplies," Fallon apologised.

Athos' mind raced and he looked about him as his comrades strolled back towards the houses. "D'Artaganan!" he called and waited as the young man trotted over to join him. "See if there is any of that meat left. Failing that, shoot another of the extra horses – make sure it's the oldest or least fit, mind." D'Artagagnan nodded and went to fulfil his task.

"When you found the first bodies, you said you were hunting," Athos prompted Fallon.

"Yes," and he pointed to forest on the far side of the village. "There are plenty of animals for the taking there."

"Dupont!" Athos called again and waited for the ex-musketeers to join him. "Take five men with you to that forested area and hunt all you can whilst there is still light. We have many people to feed." He watched the man go, rounding up a number to accompany him. "Is there fish in the stream?" and when Fallon nodded, he caught Aramis' eye and beckoned him over.

With a hand on his friend's shoulder as they walked together, he gave an amused instruction. "Take some more men with you and go and tickle some trout or whatever it is you do. Catch as much as you can."

"With pleasure," Aramis said and strode away, already unbuttoning his long coat to do his work.

"We will help with food in the short term," Athos reassured Fallon. "It is the least we can do." Fallon murmured heartfelt thanks and moved off to inform the villagers to prepare to receive the meat supplies they all hope would be forthcoming.

Athos stood alone and watched the activity from his men and villagers alike but it was not long before Treville silently materialised at his side.

"You have done well," he said.

"The people of Clairmont have done much for us and have been dragged into this through no fault of their own. If we hope that they will continue to care for our dead, we need to reciprocate and care for them, just in case a financial compensation is not forthcoming from Louis' coffers."

Treville nodded his agreement. "So, we hope to feast tonight and then we leave for the monastery tomorrow."

"Indeed." Athos looked directly at him. "And then we head for Paris, Louis and Richelieu."

"Indeed," Treville echoed and extended his hand.

Athos looked down at it before taking it in his. The grip of both men was firm as they resolved, no words necessary, to see their actions through to the potentially bitter conclusion.


	51. Chapter 51

_**Greetings all. As promised - a little read!**_

CHAPTER 51

Father Benedict stood at the top of the steps into the main building and quietly watched as the courtyard filled with soldiers on horseback and a cart on which lay several men, evidently wounded. A number of brothers from the monastery also emerged from various doorways and awaited instructions, eyeing the visitors with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. The newcomers remained in their saddles, save one man who eased his mount to the base of the steps, reined in and dismounted.

"Captain Treville!" Father Benedict cried out in obvious delight and descended the steps hurriedly, his hands extended in a warm greeting. "I am so pleased to see you again." He looked past the officer even as he clutched his hand and saw a few others begin to swing down from horseback. "Porthos, d'Artagnan, Aramis!" He welcomed each in turn, his smile growing broader and then he halted before a fourth, tall yet slender young man who hung back and watched the whole proceedings in sombre silence.

"And you," the elderly man said, "you have to be Athos. You are most welcome." He ignored the younger man's bemused expression as he turned to take in those he had directly received. "Now I have met the four of you and you return with your Captain. Our prayers have been answered. Come, come inside; this is a cause for celebration and for giving thanks to our Heavenly Father. You bring more friends with you," and his eyes ranged over the gathered men, settling on some who rode with hands bound before them, his brow creasing in perturbation, "although I see that some are not necessarily the friends that we would at first believe."

"Please don't be alarmed, Father," Treville assured him. "These men will be carefully watched and I believe they no longer present us with a serious threat as we take them back to Paris. In fact, our wounded comprise those who fought on both sides."

"No matter, they will all receive our best care," Father Benedict confirmed. "but you must all be tired and hungry. I am afraid we do not have stabling facilities for all your horses but we can certainly provide them with feed and water. I will have some of the brothers show your men where to get these. Then you must all come inside for food; we will gather in the refectory."

"Thank you. We do not want to trouble you any more than necessary, Father."

"Captain, I am just delighted that you are well. Your numbers are swollen and I am sure you have a story to tell. I want to hear all about it but first we must see to the wounded."

Treville nodded and was about to turn around and issue instructions but before he could do so, Athos was already moving amongst the men, quietly delegating tasks. As brothers from the monastery approached to guide them where to go, the soldiers quickly responded. They carried the wounded from the cart and helped the lesser injured down from horses and guided them inside in the wake of their new hosts. Once standing, the prisoners were ushered inside under escort whilst other men stepped forward and gathered the reins of several animals each to care for their needs first.

Treville, Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan followed Father Benedict inside the building to the refectory and accepted his invitation to sit at a table at the far end of the room, lowering themselves wearily onto the benches that ran each side of the long, oak table. As he joined them, a brother silently moved to set down a loaf of bread and wooden trenchers before moving away for more refreshments.

As Treville gave a refined version of what had happened to him since leaving the monastery, the prisoners were seated together at one table, their guards standing over them whilst other men filed in and took a seat where the brothers set places for them. D'Artagnan had taken up the tale as to the activities of the three friends once they, too, had left the monastery after their visit. As he spoke, Porthos saw Athos enter and look around, searching for them. He half rose and beckoned to the last of the _Inseparables _who moved with easy grace down the room between the tables and stepped over the bench to sit just as Father Benedict rose to give blessing for the food they were about to eat. With heads bowed, the soldiers mumbled an 'Amen' before tucking into the plenty but basic fare set before them. Gradually, the brothers joined them, having ensured that their guests were catered for first.

"What happened then?" the elderly monk asked, his eyes widening as Porthos recounted how they had worked to defend the maison forte. Even as he listened, his eyes kept drifting to the silent, fourth member of the friends whose attention was fixed on the food that he picked at distractedly. "Is the food not to your liking, Athos? If so, I am sure we can find you something more pleasing to your palate."

Suddenly aware that he was being addressed, Athos' head shot up and gazed at the old man. "Sorry? Oh no, the food is fine. Thank you," and he put another morsel of meat in his mouth as if to prove his point.

"Not too much of an appetite, eh?" Father Benedict smiled fleetingly, a lifetime of experience and discernment telling him that the brooding nature of the young man went much deeper than merely not wanting to eat. Turning his head slightly, he caught Treville watching also watching him, an uneasy frown on his features. "Go on, Porthos," he urged. "You must tell me what followed when you were attacked."

Now that he was recounting the battle itself, Porthos warily complied and kept the details as superficial as possible as he did not want to offend the religious man with too graphic an account but he was also mindful of how Athos would react to the verbal reminder of what had transpired. Benedict again could not fail to notice the surreptitious glances from all at the table in the direction of the young man who sat, head bowed, and totally focussed on the trencher before him. It was clear, as the story unfolded, that he had taken the lead in events and whilst Benedict did not understand the intricacies as to why the Captain had not been in command, he knew a disturbed individual when he saw one and he immediately resolved to help if at all possible. The conversation moved on to the group's brief stop at Clairmont and their decision to stop again at the monastery.

"We have a request."

The voice was unexpected, rich and cultured in its tones, the few words carefully enunciated. Father Benedict turned to look at the speaker.

"Ask, Athos, and if it is within my power, we will grant it."

Clearing his throat, Athos spoke again, "We – that is, I – had the idea and hoped that you would say a mass for the dead, all of them. They are either buried on the battlefield or at Clairmont and, whatever the reason they took up arms, we have all lost comrades. A mass would ..." he trailed off, suddenly fearful of sounding hypocritical. He was seeking this for everyone else, including the fallen; it mattered little to him, or so he tried to convince himself.

"Help everyone to say goodbye and seek repose for the dead?" Benedict finished for him.

Athos tried to maintain eye contact as the old man gazed at him searchingly but he looked away first, discomforted by the close scrutiny. It seemed as if the head of the monastery was slowly peeling him away, layer by layer, to reveal the rottenness he believed to be at his core and today, his self-imposed silence as the column rode from Clairmont, had been the direct result of his realisation during another sleepless night that he had bared his soul to Treville in recent days far more than he had intended and he honestly did not know how to cope with that. D'Artagnan and Porthos, whilst not saying anything directly to him, were treating him like precious porcelain, eyeing him surreptitiously, eager to see to his every need and speaking in muted tones as if he would break at a raised voice.

But it was Aramis' quiet concern that had unnerved him the most. He had pondered his friend's question over several nights and did not know how to answer him. Unable to shake himself from the depths of guilt and melancholia and angry at himself for not being able to do so, he knew his own defensive walls were in danger of being erected once more. There was safety, if not solace, in the familiar habit of self-reliance and keeping his thoughts and feelings tightly in check.

He had undergone weeks of emotional turmoil beginning with Treville making him temporary captain when he considered himself not fit for the task. He had worked so hard to fulfil the responsibility and had slowly warmed to the encouraging support the men had given him, especially surrounding the dignitary's visit, but that success had been immediately torn from under him in the light of the humiliation he had endured at the palace when the command had been so suddenly stripped away. The next blow was when he learned Richelieu had persuaded Louis to put Delacroix in command and that had afforded the new captain the means to make his life a living hell.

All the time he had refused to accept that Treville, long missing, was actually dead even though, at his lowest points, doubt had crept in and he had not wanted to face the cruel possibility. He had resigned his commission, the last vestiges of all that he held dear in the years after Pinon, his title, his beloved dead brother and Anne, the woman he had worshipped with every fibre of his being, were nothing more than the nightmarish ghosts he struggled to suppress each day. Then came the responsiblity of knowing that his friends and many more musketeers had given up their own form of security to follow him. Events had spiralled after that as if he were caught in turbulent water, struggling to stay afloat. It had all ended in a pitched battle where so many men had lost their lives. He would never forget the sight that surrounded him as he stood in the middle of the battlefield; the horror of the boy bleeding out and dying in his arms; the graves by which he stood. They were images branded in his mind for all time.

And then there was the final confrontation with Delacroix and he could not find the words to express how he felt about that – a mixture of relief, horror and self-revulsion at the memory.

He well-remembered all that Treville told him and what Claude had said but did not know if he could allow himself to believe them. Then he berated himself for having such self-doubt.

Someone coughed and pulled his attention back to the present. He suddenly realised that all around the table were staring at him and a flush crept up his neck.

"Father Benedict was saying that he would gladly say a mass and suggests that it be held this evening so that we can make an early start back to Paris tomorrow," Aramis explained softly.

"Fine. That's fine," and Athos scrambled to his feet. "Thank you. I ... please excuse me," and he strode briskly from the room, not really understanding why he felt the need to escape, to be on his own. Outside the building he paused and breathed deeply, welcoming the fresh air. At a loss as to where to find some privacy – even though he knew there must have been plenty of places within the monastery – he gave up and slumped down onto the steps, drinking in the peace and tranquillity of the site.

Footsteps sounded and he was aware that someone sat a couple of steps behind him. He anticipated that it would be Treville or Aramis and felt angry; he did not want to talk to them, not now.

The voice that broke the silence surprised him at first and then sent him into an escalating panic. "You are sorely troubled, my son." It was a statement, not a question, and Athos did not know how to respond. "I am happy to listen."

Athos whirled round on the elderly monk in a blaze of anger. "Do not offer me confession, Father; save your breath and time for those more worthy and in greater need."

Benedict smiled and said, "A generous thought but I believe you are more than worthy of my time and have needs of your own."

Athos jumped up. "I do not want to appear disrespectful, Father, after you have fed us and are holding the mass, but I have things to do," and he started down the steps.

"I cannot think what those things might be that take precedence over your turbulent thoughts. The horses are catered for, the brothers tend the wounded and your men are eating their fill, prisoners included who, incidentally, are quite happily sitting in the refectory with plenty of people guarding them. What could you possibly have to do that is so important?" If he was expecting an answer from the young man who stood on a lower step looking up at him, breathing deeply, fists clenched tensely and his face dark with suppressed anger, then he was to be disappointed. Father Benedict struggled to his feet, the seat on the steps not the most accommodating for a man of his advanced years. "Isn't it time to stop running, my son?"

"I'm not running!" Athos snapped but even to his ears, his objection sounded weak.

"If you say so," Benedict concurred gently. Brothers began to emerge from the building to go about tasks and walked down the steps, greeting the two of them as if it was the most natural thing in the world for an elderly monk to be standing on the steps talking to a broken soldier from whom tension rolled in waves. After yet another interruption, Benedict had a suggestion. "Why don't we talk in a side chapel? It will be quieter there."

Athos' fury knew no bounds and he moved up the steps to stand on the same one as Father Benedict but he had the height advantage and he cut an intimidating figure although the other man did not even blink. "What do you want from me? I've already told you I am not taking confession. I didn't do that when it was offered the night before I was due to be executed by a firing squad and on that occasion I was actually innocent. You want to hear me say that I _have_ sinned? All right, I've sinned more times than you want to hear and in more terrible ways than you can ever imagine."

"I do not doubt it given your occupation. I am not forcing you to let me hear your confession, my son, but the moment you rode in, I could tell you were weighted down by so many cares. I am not here to judge you but I am a good listener and I would afford you the same confidentiality as in the confessional box. We could just talk; it is an old adage that a trouble shared is thereby halved." Benedict's voice was gentle and inviting.

Athos stifled a yawn and muttered an apology, a life time of etiquette dictating that he did not want the other man to think he was rudely affecting boredom.

"When was the last time you had a good night's sleep?" Benedict asked, noting the darkly circled eyes and ignoring the fading bruises.

There was a derisive snort in response. "Do you mean one that wasn't helped by a bellyful of alcohol or a herbal draught to put me out?" Athos waited for a reply but when one was not forthcoming, he sighed. "The times when I will have an uninterrupted sleep are few and far between. I can be exhausted and lie there until the early hours, my mind racing." His eyes grew distant and his voice softened. "Then when I do sleep, the ghosts come." He shook his head sadly. "There'll be more of them now."

"Perhaps not," Benedict said, "if you talk about them."

Athos' lips twitched in the start of a regretful smile. "You don't give in, do you? In case you were unaware, I am not known for my willingness to talk which is somewhat ironic given the number of deep conversations I have had with Captain Treville in recent days."

"He thinks highly and fondly of you, you know," Father Benedict said, watching him closely for his reaction.

"I know and even then I sometimes wonder why; I do not want to disappoint him."

"You doubt yourself, don't you? If the Captain had not thought you able, he would not have put you in charge of the musketeers. From what I hear, the men thought you capable too, especially the ones who followed you later. You have led them in battle; it is unrealistic to think none will fall. I wonder why you have this doubt. I can only surmise that in the past you have been seriously hurt by something or someone," and he saw immediately, from the change in expression, that his last comment hit home like a rapier tip finding its lethal mark. He reached out to lay a hand on Athos' arm. "Why don't we go for that talk? You can say as much or as little as you'd like. We can even sit in silence if you would prefer. In the coolness and low light of the chapel, you can find peace and rest for a while. I will watch over you and keep others at bay." He saw Athos hesitate as the anger drained from him, although he was still very wary. "Come, my son; come and rest," and he tugged gently at the young man's sleeve.

Before he knew what was happening, Athos felt himself led down the steps, across the yard and into the dark interior of the monastery's large church building.

...

The next morning found the column on the road again but minus the severely wounded. Father Benedict had insisted that they be left with the brothers to recover, whether they were prisoners or not. Roland, for one, had deteriorated further overnight, infection having taken hold of his shoulder injury and his body ravaged by fever to such an extent that his survival was prayed for but questionable.

The mass had been attended by all and a strange serenity had descended on the soldiers as a result so that they faced the new day well-rested.

As they gathered in the refectory to break their fast before departing, Aramis watched, relieved, as Athos reached for a second helping of bread and cut himself a chunk of milky white cheese before chewing on them with a relish that Aramis had not seen for many days, if not weeks. The darkness had not faded from around his eyes overnight but he had slept soundly next to him for the first time in ages, barely shifting position throughout the long hours and he now walked with a renewed determination and energy rather than with the haunted demeanour of recent days.

On the road to Paris, Aramis deliberately manoeuvred his mount alongside Athos and they rode for some time in companionable silence. When they happened to glance across at each other simultaneously, Aramis took the opportunity to speak.

"You disappeared for quite some time after dinner yesterday until the mass," he observed.

Athos rode on, eyes fixed upon the road ahead and for a while Aramis thought he was not going to respond. "I was with Father Benedict in the chapel."

Aramis hoped Athos did not witness his reaction as one eyebrow rose and he allowed himself a quick smile in pleasant surprise.

"We talked, nothing more," Athos insisted, guessing that Aramis would be interpreting it as the first signs of renewed spiritual enlightenment and he did not want to mislead him.

Aramis shrugged in an attempt to show that he did not care whether or not Father Benedict had heard a full confession from the man who no longer professed to practice any faith, but secretly he was delighted that Athos was still speaking to someone, anyone.

"I have thought about what you said to me the other day. You asked me how you could help," Athos said, still concentrating on the road. Aramis waited. "You know I do not find it easy to talk and I am not sure myself why I have been plain with Captain Treville of late or the Father yesterday."

"I can," Aramis interjected. "The Captain is in a better position to advise you on recent events; he has different experience and expertise, things you have needed that we could not give you. As for Father Benedict, sometimes it is easier to speak to a stranger."

"I would not have you think that I do not want to be open with you; I ... I find it so difficult at times."

"I know," Aramis conceded softly, wondering what else might be coming as an admission.

"But I wanted to say," and here Athos looked directly at him, "that all I need is to know that you are here with me, the three of you."

Athos leaned in his saddle and clapped Athos on the back. "Always, my friend; always."

Even as he spoke the words of reassurance, it was as if a chilled hand touched his heart so that, for the first time in ages, he thought on the duplicitous secret that he and Athos shared. He could not help but wonder how long they could conceal his infidelity with the Queen and the fact that the long-awaited heir to the French throne was not the King's, but his.


	52. Chapter 52

CHAPTER 52

"Captain Treville! You dear, dear man, I have missed you so!" The King, a vision in purple silk and white linen ruffles, was exclaiming his delight even before the double doors had been fully opened by footmen and he covered the floor of the ornate library almost at a run until he came to the spot where the Captain stood in the middle of the vast room. Louis seemed about to throw himself at the officer by way of greeting but then remembered himself and pulled up short, choosing instead to cast his eyes over the dishevelled and dusty state of the man.

"I express regret, Your Majesty, at my untidy appearance but I thought it more important to come straight to the palace on my return to Paris after such a long absence rather than take time to make myself more presentable," Treville said, gracing his monarch with a low bow.

Louis dismissed the apology with a flambouyant wave of the hand and made a 'tut-tut' noise. "I should be scolding you for staying away so long. Where have you been? What have you been doing?"

Treville was about to launch into the story that he had agreed with Athos when the doors opened again to admit the Queen, moving as quickly as she could to take her place beside her husband.

"Captain, I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you. I beg you not to give me such a fright again; I have been so worried about you," Anne gushed.

"Your Majesty honours me with so much concern; I thank you," Treville said, bowing to her as well.

The Queen looked past him at the figure who hung back. "Athos, I am so pleased to see you too. You have been too long from court and I know much has happened. We need to have a complete explanation."

Athos had bowed on her entry and repeated it when she directly addressed him but he did not speak, his eyes darting in Treville's direction instead as if hoping he would begin their tale but the King spoke next.

"Monsieur Athos, you have returned. Is this of your own volition or did Captain Delacroix bring you? Where is he?" and he craned his neck to peer further into the room as if he expected the man to materialise.

Athos was about to inform the King that Delacroix was dead when Treville silenced him merely with a look to "Your Majesty, ours is a protracted story and it is hard to think where to begin but first and foremost I would have you know that I would not be standing before you now if it were not for the loyalty and determination of this man. He has been much misrepresented by Delacroix to yourself and suffered at his hands."

"Peace, Captain," the King raised a hand to still any further protest from the officer. "My wife has repeated to me all that was told to her by the friends of Athos here. They painted a very poor picture of Delacroix and when I think of what he has done to my regiment of musketeers, it makes my blood boil. A large number of men, apparently, had gone off with you, Monsieur Athos. Pray tell me that you have brought them back to Paris in one piece. I simply cannot be seen to have a much reduced regiment. I am sure the Cardinal is enjoying the situation as it is."

Athos and Treville exchanged an awkward glance which did not go unnoticed by the King who again waved his hand, this time in frustration as he endeavoured to glean information from them.

"Captain Delacroix is dead," Treville announced.

Louis' jaw dropped in surprise. "Pray, how did this happen? Speak," he looked from one to the other of them, "I insist."

"I killed him," Athos admitted softly. If it were at all possible, Louis' jaw dropped even further and the Queen gasped, lurching a little so that all three men were momentarily concerned with her wellbeing. As Treville dared to reach for her in order to steady her whilst Athos strode to the side of the room to retrieve a high-backed, ornate chair and bring it back for Treville to lower her down onto it. Louis descended into a noisy panic.

Once she had reassured them that she was not going to faint, she did not require the assistance of any of her ladies-in-waiting nor the court physician, she really did not want any water to sip, nor did she need her fan, Louis rounded on Athos.

"You dare to enter my presence, armed and a known renegade and calmly admit to killing the Captain of my regiment?"

"If you would but let me explain ..." he began.

"Sire, I beg you, let me tell you all that has transpired. It is a complex tale but worth the hearing and I am convinced that you will see matters in a totally different light once you have heard it all. I hope that I have not been gone so long that you have lost faith in me," Treville appealed.

Louis paced restlessly for a while as if making an important decision. He eventually halted before his newly returned Captain and nodded affirmatively. "If I am expected to listen to a long tale, I wish to do so in comfort."

Summoning footmen, he gave orders for another chair and refreshments and nothing would induce him to settle to listen to Treville until what he demanded was supplied. Within minutes, he was seated with the Queen on his left and a small table to his right, on which there was a glass of dark red wine of the highest quality and a small dish of sweets. Biting into one, he chewed thoughtfully on a half and gesticulated with the other. "Proceed, Treville; convince me not to have this man immediately clapped in irons.

Athos nervously watched and listened to the officer as he methodically retold the story from the attack on his men and his being taken prisoner, describing where and how he was held. He then gave an account of what had happened to Athos whilst Delacroix was in command, the false charge of murder, his resignation and why, the departure of the renegades and the search for him, Treville. When it reached the part about the attack on the maison forte by a combined Red Guard and Musketeers, Louis was appalled and when the damaging outcome was announced, the King sat in stunned silence.

"My musketeers," he eventually breathed, devastated by such behaviour and losses.

"That is why, Sire, I beseech you to pardon any perceived wrongdoing, forgive them their hasty resignations and reinstate them to the regiment. They are all loyal, dedicated men; your faithful servants and all of them highly trained and experienced. You must acknowledge that, given recent losses, we cannot afford to lose them as well." He sensed Louis' hesitation and pressed forward his advantage. "I was a day away from being murdered, Your Majesty, and Athos saved my life. He is not the criminal here, Sire, but always the innocent, striving to do his best by Your Majesties and serving you to the full. Think of how he arranged all the details of the dignitary's visit; I doubt I could have done better myself. Has he not proven his worth to you?"

"Oh!" gasped Louis as if a thought struck him. "My poor Cardinal!"

Athos and Treville looked at each other again wondering how the King had been so quickly distracted. They were soon to find out.

"Cardinal Richelieu was seriously misled by this Delacroix who manipulated him at every turn in order to be recommended to me as a suitable captain. I am surprised that Armand was taken in by such falseness but he obviously had faith in this man and he will be mortified when he learns the truth. I do not know how I am going to tell him of this."

Both Treville and Athos stared at the King in disbelief. How had he managed to interpret the story in such a way that Delacroix was the evil brain behind events and the Cardinal was an innocent victim? When they told him the truth about his beloved advisor, he was going to be devastated. Could they do that to him? Could they destroy his faith in one whom he trusted? Athos suddenly understood the key problem Treville had faced all along.

They were going to have to make a very careful decision. Stay quiet and have the Cardinal remain on position wreaking more havoc or inform the King of his activities, thereby destroying the Monarch's faith in the person on whom he depended so much?


	53. Chapter 53

_**And here it is, the confrontation between Treville and Richelieu. It was to be the last chapter but there will be one more, an epilogue, tomorrow. Many thanks for the continued support and comments. I hope you stay with me for one more chapter!**_

CHAPTER 53

Treville strode through the palace corridors, anger seeping from every pore and his mouth set in a grim line. Athos refrained from speaking but lengthened his own stride to keep pace easily with the officer, frustrated in his own way by the King's response.

"Do you have those papers with you?" Treville suddenly asked as they began to move along the covered walkway that ran adjacent to the main ground floor rooms to the left and overlooked the carefully designed gardens to the right.

"Yes, sir," came the reply.

It was after the mass at the monastery that Treville had sought out Athos with a task, setting down paper and writing implements in front of him before pulling the familiar leather-bound book from inside his doublet.

"Did you read this?" he asked.

Athos shook his head. "When I found it, I glanced at the first few pages and realised the importance of its content, not least because I had found Delacroix tearing apart your office and Pière told me that he had been searching your house." He sensed Treville's increasing indignation and appreciated that the older man's personal life had been violated by Delacroix' intrusion. "I did not read it in detail and was not going to until ... until I knew for certain whether or not you would be returning."

Treville continued, "I thank you for not delving too deeply into it but it's time for you to know all. I need you to copy out the salient points – not everything, but just enough to let Richelieu know exactly what information I have upon him. Also, by you undertaking the task, you will be perusing all of that evidence. Two of us knowing the details will be a protection against anything happening to me or the documentation."

Athos nodded and set about the task. Even with his quick mind and speedy cursive writing style, it still took him well over two hours to complete the assigned copying. Treville returned to the room to find him sitting back in his chair, hands resting on the table top and eyes fixed upon the loose sheets of paper before him that were covered in his writing. It was not until Treville picked up one of the pages that Athos snapped out of his reverie and looked up at the officer in amazement.

"He has done all this?" There was a measure of disbelief in his tone.

"And probably a lot more, but that's what I know about and for which I have verification," Treville said.

"This must destroy him, surely?" Athos said hopefully.

"I would think so; I really don't see how Louis can excuse him of this."

"He couldn't! The King must see how scheming and dangerous the man is and to leave him in the position of First Minister after the revelation of all this does not bear thinking about. The plot against the Queen herself would be enough," Athos appealed.

"Perhaps it was a grave error of judgement on my part to conceal that little escapade from His Majesty," Treville acknowledged.

Rather than agreeing, Athos was immediately reminded that the plot against the Queen was when they sought refuge at the convent, throwing her and Aramis together so that the unthinkable occurred. He fell silent.

"When we get back to Paris, you and I will take the loose sheets you have written to the Cardinal and make a present of them to him," said Treville determinedly.

Now the pair marched side by side towards the Cardinal's extensive apartment and offices, both of them seething at the King's apparent lack of concern about what had happened to them and the regiment, being more worried about how the churchman would react to his being duped by 'the evil Delacroix who had betrayed them all.' Those had been the King's words.

They were still struggling with the decision about whether or not they should inform the King of the Cardinal's part in events. At least their audience with the monarch had ended on a more positive note. Convinced that Athos had suffered unduly at the hands of Delacroix yet not prepared to apologise for his own part in hastily removing the man's command based on unsound advice, Louis was adamant that the soldier be fully restored to his position within the musketeer regiment. This also applied to all those who resigned after him, should they wish to be re-instated. Nothing more would be said and, under the experienced command of Captain Treville, Louis expected that the regiment would rapidly settle into its customary routine and its numbers would be back to strength equally quickly in the wake of recent losses.

It would be good news to take back to the garrison where all the men awaited them but first they had an appointment of their own making.

...

Richelieu was sitting at his desk pouring over a plethora of paperwork when he was disturbed by a commotion in the corridor beyond the room. Even as he glanced towards the source of the sound, the door burst open and Treville appeared, several angry red guards in hot pursuit, shouting at him and in the Cardinal's direction.

"I'm sorry, Your Eminence," one of them said. "We tried to stop him."

"You!" Richelieu rose to his feet, staring aghast at Treville even as he gestured with a flailing right hand for his men to quieten down but there was no cessation of noise for three more guards entered, hanging onto and trying to subdue a ferociously struggling Athos.

"We have the leader of the renegades, Cardinal," one of them announced proudly, the announcement breaking off in a grunt as a well-aimed, backwards-booted kick from Athos found the man's shin.

"Be still, Athos," Treville ordered without even turning to look at him, his eyes still fixed on the First Minister. Athos obeyed immediately, much to the surprise of the men who held him but that did not deter them from roughly dragging him forward through the large and predominantly empty room that was designed to intimidate in its austerity.

"Greetings, Cardinal. I trust you are as happy to see me as I am to see you. Before we have a much needed chat, I suggest you order your red guard to let my man go," Treville said, his eyes and voice cold.

"Now why would I do that, Treville? Your man resigned his commission and has been leading a band of renegades. He's also wanted for murder. Captain Delacroix said ..."

"Yes. I gather Captain Delacroix said a lot of things," interrupted Treville, the tone of sarcasm on the rank was unmistakable, "but I think you know a lot more about what Delacroix said on occasions. He's dead, by the way."

Just for a fleeting moment, Richelieu's eyes widened but both Athos and Treville saw it. However, he skilfully recovered.

"Let him go," he ordered, glancing at his guards as if the whole incident bored him. "All of you, leave us."

They released Athos who shrugged his doublet back onto his shoulders properly and pulled on the front so that it set properly beneath the belt. He turned his head so that he could watch all the guards exit the room, his face an expressionless mask. Treville was also trying to school his features into some semblance of control, rather than reveal the depths of his anger. He knew from experience that it achieved nothing by giving way to emotions when dealing with the Cardinal.

Richelieu attempted a soothing smile but it looked more like a predatory sneer. "Would you like to sit down? Have some refreshments?" he offered.

"Thank you but no. We do not intend staying too long," Treville announced.

"Well, let us have that 'little chat' you referred to a few moments ago then. I presume you want to get down to business, rather than exchange pleasantries so I shall dispense with the platitudes welcoming you back and saying that I have missed you."

"You presume correctly, especially when we both know you are surprised to see me and that under no circumstances have you missed me."

The Cardinal sat down slowly in order to give himself time to restore a veneer of calm; he carefully rearranged the long garment he wore over his doublet. He picked at a non-existent loose thread on his breeches before taking a deep breath and looking up at Treville who had moved to stand the other side of the desk.

"And just what is it you think you know about me and my opinion on matters?" the Cardinal invited warily.

"I know you wanted Delacroix in position as Captain and so you poisoned the King against Athos, despite the successful visit of the Austrian dignitary. It was because of you that I headed out on a fool's errand to Normandy and made a detour to the monastery on your behalf. You put Delacroix up to intercepting us on the road, killing six good men and taking me prisoner, holding me under guard in some ruined maison forte."

The Cardinal blinked rapidly a few times and clasped his hands together on the desk before him. They were the only outward signs of the man's growing discomfort but they gave Treville and Athos encouragement.

"You sent Delacroix after Athos with musketeers and a group of Red Guard under a Captain Roland. A pitched battle broke out at the maison forte because Athos and the men with him had found me. Men died, Cardinal, including Delacroix and many others were wounded, such as Roland and you know why? It was because you had given the order for Athos, the men and me to be slaughtered and if he stood any chance of being successful, Delacroix was to be killed by Roland." Treville had a great sense of satisfaction when he saw beads of sweat stand out on Richelieu's brow.

"You're probably wondering how I know this. Well, Delacroix had a penchant for talking, helped by Athos concealed at my house and overhearing a pertinent conversation. That's also how Athos knew about my manservant's murder by Delacroix and what he intended. Then, of course, there was what Roland had to say – not just to me but to Athos here as well. He can bear witness to what was said."

It seemed as if Richelieu had been struck dumb; his breathing had quickened slightly and he fought to maintain an outward demeanour of calmness and control, trying to salvage something from the accusations.

"What was it all for, Armand? Would you admit it now?" Treville waited for several heartbeats but the Cardinal refused to speak. "Nothing to say for yourself? Then I'll say it for you. You have been involved in so many nefarious plots over the years, not least your most recent one to have the Queen assassinated, that you have grown worried about how much I might know and you desperately wanted to find out. A guilty conscience at last getting to you, Cardinal? Worry no longer for I am about to put you out of you misery."

Treville glanced towards Athos and nodded. It was a signal for the younger musketeer to retrieve his copied sheets from the inside of his doublet. Unfolding them, he briskly moved forward and laid them on the desk immediately in front of the Cardinal before stepping backwards and resuming his place at Treville's side.

Richelieu refused to be drawn in or to give them satisfaction by picking up the papers and studying them.

"What are these?" he demanded, still trying to exude an air of authority when, in reality, he sounded as if he had suddenly aged ten years.

"Details surrounding some of your activities going back a very long way, Cardinal; activities that are somewhat questionable for a leading churchman and even more questionable for one purporting to be the First Minister of this country. Why, some of the things written there would indicate that you consider yourself more prominent than the King himself. It makes for very interesting reading, Cardinal, but do not worry. You can have that copy; it was made by Athos here. His handwriting is more legible than mine so you should not have any problems deciphering the content. We'll let you read it at your leisure."

"And then what?" Richelieu asked, his voice little more than a croak.

"Then I expect you will want to have another conversation with us. In the meantime, I happen to have been away from the garrison and the majority of my men for far too long and I want to see for myself just what damage Delacroix did to my regiment. I also have good news to impart to a number of them that they have been re-commissioned; His Majesty has graciously decided that he does not want a severely reduced regiment and wants them all to return to duty immediately."

"His Majesty? You have spoken with him?" Richelieu's eyes widened.

"But of course," Treville said as though it were the most natural thing in the world, a smile on his lips but the eyes remaining cold. "He is my commander and on my return to Paris, it was only right that I see him first before I attended to anything else. He was most charming and welcomed me warmly, ignoring my dishevelled state from a long journey. Enough of that though. Athos and I will leave you to your reading and we will wait to hear from you."

Treville and Athos headed towards the door but Treville suddenly halted and turned to face the Cardinal once more; the churchman sat, staring at the paper before him as his eyes fixed on occasional words. "One more thing, Cardinal. Feel free to burn it if you so wish but rest assured that it is not the only document. In fact, you have the copy; an abbreviated one that took Athos a couple of hours to write from the much longer original that is in my possession. It contains far more interesting detail than there for your perusal." Treville gave him a bow, Athos followed suit and then both men were gone, the door closing loudly behind them.

Richelieu sat, unmoving, for several minutes after he had been left alone. He struggled to his feet and seemed to stumble towards a cupboard from which he retrieved a glass and a brandy bottle. Going back to the desk, he slumped ungracefully into his seat and, with a shaking hand, poured himself a large brandy which he downed in one before pouring another. As he sipped the second one more slowly, he began to read the tidy, cursive script, periodically exclaiming at certain details, ones that he certainly never envisaged anyone gathering on him.

He read slowly, horrified at what he was seeing and wondering about what the fuller document might contain for what lay before him alone was enough for total ruin and disgrace. He re-read several sections and then sank back into his chair, his mind racing as he sought to plan a way out of the situation in which he found himself but it seemed futile.

Pouring himself a third brandy, he did not recall drinking it, even though the glass was once more empty. Evening wore on and the room darkened save for the candle burning in its holder on the desk. He could see no clear way to save his reputation; there was not enough time to besmirch Treville's name and it was pointless contemplating ways in which the musketeer captain might have an unfortunate accident within the next few hours.

Treville was unlikely to go to his home this night as there was no-one to have made preparation for his return and the house would be unwelcoming. That same lack of readiness might have given rise to an unfortunate fire breaking out in which the Captain perished, his damning document destroyed along with him. Unlikely to take risks, though, Treville would probably leave the document within the safety of the garrison. In fact, he had said he had been absent too long so he was more than likely to remain there for the night; it was common knowledge that the infuriating man usually bedded down in a cot in the corner of his office, of all ridiculous notions.

There was also the added problem of the annoying musketeer, Athos, knowing of the content. He, too, would have to be disposed of and the chance of that happening overnight, when he was probably out carousing with his immediate friends who would protect him, was nothing short of impossible. He may well have told his friends what he knew anyway so how could they be silenced too?

As Richelieu wrestled with the problem, he gradually became aware of the fact that he did not feel well. A vague nausea began to annoy the pit of his stomach whilst an undeniable tingling spread from the fingertips of his left hand and worked its way up his arm. He rubbed at it briskly with his right hand to alleviate it and tried shaking it out but it worsened. His chest tightened and he felt hot and cold by turns as sweat trickled down his face. That same tightness, which made him struggle for breath, suddenly metamorphosed into an excruciating agony that knifed through his torso. He gave a hoarse, agonised cry and clutched at his chest with one hand whilst tearing at the clothing round his throat as if it were that which was restricting his breathing.

He tried to call for assistance but could not muster any volume; no-one would hear him. Levering himself to his feet, he felt his way along the desk and round its side, desperate to remain upright and reach the door. The distance between desk and door, already ridiculously long, appeared to grow longer and he desperately launched himself from the support of the furniture and launched himself towards the exit, staggering in a parody of drunkenness.

But he was never to reach help. Pain exploded through him, starting in the vicinity of his heart and seemingly bursting outwards. A strangled cry escaped his lips, his eyes widened and he reached for the door handle even as he pitched forward to the floor. He tried to crawl but covered only a few inches before one last, agonising constriction around his heart took hold. One final, choking exhalation was all he could manage and his face contorted in a horrendous grimace as his hand, claw-like in anguish tried to cover the impossible distance to the door and potential help. He sank slowly to the floor and moved no more.

The great Cardinal Richelieu, First Minister of France, friend and advisor to King Louis XIII was dead.


	54. Chapter 54

_**Dear all, here it is, the very last chapter. THANK YOU to all of you who have accompanied me on this journey and who have supported me with such encouraging comments and to all of you who have taken the time to read it. I set myself many personal challenges with this story and you have helped me achieve all of them and more. I have loved reading what you've said and enjoyed the private messaging conversations. I feel as if I have made many new friends. I'm bowing out for a little while as I get underway with a new story based on a throw away comment I made in Ch 25, no less. It's about the siege of La Rochelle and gives me the opportunity to resurrect both Richelieu and Delacroix in flashback. Who knows, Claude may even put in an appearance! I hope to hear from many of you again but now I have several weeks or reading o this site to catch up on so that I can reciprocate and add much deserved reviews for a lot of you.**_

EPILOGUE

Athos was sitting at the table favoured by the _Inseparables _in the yard and watched as a number of the men engaged in light-hearted sparring the day after they had ridden into the garrison. He was awaiting the return of the Captain from the palace where he had been summoned in an unspecified emergency earlier that morning so Athos took advantage of a brief respite in the sun to revisit and reflect on the events of the previous twenty-four hours.

Riding side by side, he and Treville had fallen into a comfortable silence once they entered the city gates. They were home and no matter what unfolded later at the Louvre with Louis and Richelieu, a large proportion of the musketeer regiment were back where they belonged, even if a handful of them were returning as prisoners and even more were uncertain of the welcome they would receive.

As they approached the archway into the yard, Athos had slowed his mount to allow Treville to go on ahead but the older man eased his horse's pace too and looked across at Athos, an eyebrow raised questioningly.

"You will lead the men into the garrison," Athos stated simply, acknowledging that he was rescinding any assumed authority with immediate effect.

Treville shook his head adamantly. "We will ride in together; I will not take no for an answer. I am only returning thanks to your efforts and it was your command, rudely taken away from you, that gave these men their last stability."

"Thank you," Athos said quietly, his eyes meeting those of his commanding officer, an unspoken understanding passing between them. At that moment, one of the guards on duty had started with a cry of delighted recognition and sped inside.

As Treville and Athos rode into the yard, followed by the surviving men, musketeers emerged from every conceivable doorway, their jubilant cheers and warm welcome at the sight of their missing commander quickly dispelling any reservations those returning might have had. After all, Treville was the only existing musketeers amongst them, together with those who had been brought back as prisoners; Athos and his men had all resigned their commissions days beforehand and had left Paris as marked men – renegades.

Serge had been beside himself with excitement, bellowing orders to anyone near enough to bring wine, beer, food for the returning men. Other musketeers took hold of reins to care for and stable tired mounts and the string of extra horses they had brought with them, formerly ridden by those who had fallen.

All had turned out to play their part and assist where possible and it was clear to all that the concept of an 'ex' musketeer was not in their minds in the slightest. Those returning were welcomed with open arms, in some cases quite literally. Friends were re-united and explanations demanded. Eyebrows were raised at the sight of several colleagues, hands bound, as they were helped to dismount and herded into a small group, seemingly very sorry for themselves. Treville gave instructions for the men to be taken into a large, empty room on the same floor as the office and locked in there with two men left on guard outside.

Leaving the melée of noisy, ebullient musketeers in the yard, Athos had climbed the stairs and walked along towards the office. He paused, framed in the doorway, as he watched Treville wander slowly round the room, a hand trailing over the furnishings and contents as if seeing old friends after a long absence.

Feeing intrusive, Athos was just about to turn and go when Treville looked up, saw him and smiled. "You know, more than once I thought I'd never see this room again."

Athos crossed the threshold, sensing that the admission was an invitation. His eyes ran over the layout of the office, taking note of the changes Delacroix had made during his brief tenure. Any evidence that Treville and Athos had been in possession of the room had been obliterated.

"I wonder what happened to my stuff," Treville had wondered aloud.

"If Delacroix had had his way, everything that reminded him of you would have been consigned to the rubbish, especially when he started thoroughly searching the office. I ... er ... I took the liberty of packing it up and putting it in a storage cupboard down in the kitchen. Serge said he would make sure it was safe there."

Treville gave a wry smile. "Is there no end to the things for which I have to thank you?"

Athos shrugged dismissively but said nothing.

"You and I will talk later but right now, we need to go to the palace to see the King."

"We?" Athos was surprised. He had assumed in the first instance that Treville would speak to Louis alone.

"Yes, you're coming with me."

So they had seen the King together and received his assurance that the errant musketeers would be re-instated before heading on to their confrontation with Richelieu. On their return to the garrison, Treville had given the good news to the regiment that commissions were being restored and the celebrations had begun, with Serge providing the best meal he and his helpers could muster at short notice and where both wine and ale ran freely.

The prisoners had been brought to the office one by one to be spoken to by Treville. He had resumed his usual seat at the desk whilst Athos stood to one side, arms crossed and leaning against the wall; it was an oddly familiar and, at the same time, reassuring stance. The survivors who had ridden with Delacroix had primarily been following orders and, hoping that their time as prisoners had made them rethink their actions, Treville was giving them a choice: an honourable discharge from the regiment or a probationary period giving them the chance to prove themselves and their loyalty to the musketeers. To a man, they had opted for the latter, included those who had demonstrated a worrying allegiance and friendship to Delacroix.

Treville had stood contentedly to one side, wine goblet in hand, watching his men celebrating and relaxing after the stressful weeks and he wished fervently that there would be no long-lasting ill-effects for any of them. He wanted things to be back to normal as quickly as possible but he knew he would be forever indebted to many of them, Athos most of all.

The celebrations had been curtailed by midnight and the garrison fell silent, the only obvious movement being the two men on duty at the main entrance.

It was shortly after dawn that a messenger had arrived from the palace urgently summoning Treville's presence. As he departed, he gave instructions to the guard to inform Athos where he had gone.

So now, Athos was waiting. He was on his feet the moment he heard horse's hooves, even before Treville rode into the yard and slid from the saddle, a stable boy promptly stepping forward to take the reins and lead the animal away. Without speaking, the Captain ascended the stairs and disappeared into his office, leaving the door open.

Athos followed and paused, knocking on the door before wandering in. Treville was standing looking out of the window and back to the entrance just as he had been doing weeks before when he had asked to see the younger musketeer and events had unfolded.

"Are the rumours true?" Athos asked.

Treville turned. "Yes, the Cardinal is dead. Found lying on the floor of the room where we left him yesterday. Heart attack." The bitterness was evident in his voice as he went to the cupboard where he usually kept his brandy and drinking vessels, half wondering if they were yet something else Delacroix had removed but, with relief, he found them still there and retrieved them. "Louis is beside himself with grief; heaven knows when he will be rational again." He poured out two drinks. All he would say was that 'dear Armand wore out his heart in the service of France.' Pull up a chair."

Stunned by the news and all it implied, Athos took the chair from against the wall and sat in front of the desk, just as he had done all those weeks before, and accepted the drink that was handed to him. He was vaguely aware that Treville had downed his in one and refilled the pewter cup.

"Did you see him?"

Treville nodded. "It looked as if he was crawling to the door to get help but he never reached it. The agony was etched on his face."

"An unpleasant way to go, especially alone," Athos muttered and sipped at the liquid that burned his throat as he swallowed.

"Probably fast though." Treville sat down and swirled the cup, gazing at the amber liquid as it moved. He suddenly slid a hand inside his doublet and pulled out the sheets that Athos had meticulously copied. "We won't need these anymore." He slammed them down on the desk top, the movement screaming his frustration.

"Did these bring on his death?" Athos wondered.

Treville threw wide his hands, unsure. "Possibly. Just maybe the realisation of what he had done created some guilt in him at last."

Athos took another mouthful as he pondered something. "He died without absolution, the last rites."

Treville struggled to smother his smile at the unexpected observation. "I suspect that there will be many who will be praying for the Cardinal's repose and to speed him from purgatory."

Athos made a sound of derision but then grew sombre once more. "You aren't going to show your book to the King, are you?"

Treville refilled their cups as he gave himself time to consider his answer. "The destruction of his reputation when he is not alive to defend himself or offer up any explanation will only hurt the people who held him in such high esteem, those who looked up to him as a church leader and the First Minister of France. What good would it serve to shatter their view of him?"

"And the King?"

"He grieves for a friend he has lost. My duty is first and foremost to His Majesty, to protect him at all costs; that means sheltering him from all kinds of hurt, from anything that threatens him. Then my service is to the country. If I tell him the truth, how will he react? What would this knowledge do to him and, subsequently, France? I can't do it, Athos, as much as I want to."

"What had you hoped to achieve with the revelation after all your hard work amassing the evidence?" Athos wanted to know.

"His disgrace; his fall from power. Instead, it seems my hard work has initiated his premature demise," Treville stated.

"You don't know that for certain. It could have been a coincidence."

The Captain frowned disbelievingly at the suggestion. "I had not considered you as one holding much store in coincidences."

Athos was dismissive and focused his attention on the brandy.

Treville studied him for a moment. "I could not stop you telling the King though. I cannot order your silence, especially after all that has happened to you."

Athos looked directly back at him. "Tell the King what? I don't know what you are referring to."

Treville nodded at his agreement to their confederacy and rose to stand at the window once more, his back to Athos so that the younger man could not see his expression.

"I have much to thank you for, Athos. You did well by the men, tried to protect the regiment, came after me and saved my life. I owe you so much."

"I only did what anyone else would do."

"No," Treville corrected, half turning. "You did much more than could be asked or expected of anyone." His resumed his perusal of activities beyond the window whilst Athos waited again. "I ... I have something I wish you to have." He moved to open a desk drawer.

"There is no need," Athos began.

"Humour me," Treville insisted. Athos felt a flush creeping up his neck as he wondered about the change in direction of the conversation. He watched as Treville retrieved something from the drawer.

"My father gave me this; he had it from his father before him. I had always expected to be able to pass it to my son but ... well, I have been a soldier nearly all of my life and the opportunity of a family never seemed to arise and ..."

"There is still time," Athos interrupted.

Treville gave a winsome smile. "I doubt it. As far as I am concerned, you have done far more than a man could expect of any son. I know no other way to say thank you. I do not want it found in my belongings after I am gone, perhaps as suddenly as Richelieu, and disposed of carelessly. It would make me very happy if you would accept it. All I ask is that you do not look at it until you are alone." He held out a small, black velvet bag and dropped it into Athos' outstretched hand.

The young man rose. "I don't know what to say. I did what I had to do; you are a good man and have taught me so much. I could not stand by and do nothing; I ..." His voice trailed away as the two men – two soldiers - stood and looked at each other in a strange mixture of embarrassment, pride, affection, comradeship and friendship.

Alone in his room some fifteen minutes later, Athos sat on his bed and tipped the contents of the black velvet bag into his hand, his breath catching in his throat as he did so.

It was a beautiful pocket time piece on a chain, the outer casing finely engraved with swirling vines and a small bird. It looked an expensive piece and it brought to mind the one his own father had owned, frequently promising it to him as the first born, but he had let the man down. He could not even remember what it was now; the slightest thing he did seem to incur his father's wrath and displeasure, unlike Thomas. His younger brother was the indulged favourite; bright, outgoing, mischievous and loved by all. Athos, in comparison, was studious, serious and always reminded of his ultimate responsibility of the title, Pinon estate and the tenants. So this day he had failed in some way, letting down his father and, in punishment, he had been made to stand in his father's study while the Comte called in his younger son and made a very public display of handing over the valuable time piece. Athos could not put into words how he had felt that day nor his reaction when, less than two months later, he had found the piece carelessly discarded at the back of a bottom drawer, its glass face shattered and an irreparable scratch across the filigree silver work.

He opened it and saw the inscription; a precious gift from a father to an adored son who, in turn, had passed it to his son who now, as a much revered and respected military man, more of a father figure to Athos in recent years than his own had ever been, had thought enough of him to give it to him. He re-read the inscription over and over.

"_To my beloved son."_

The conflicting emotions of the past weeks converged on him once more and he sought to smile as he thought of the gruff soldier who had given him such a treasured gift but he failed.

Overwhelmed, Athos clutched the time-piece to his chest, thought of the sentiment the piece bore, bowed his head and wept.


End file.
